Ramble On
by CaileeChaos
Summary: The Old Testament had sixteen prophets. What if the Winchester brothers have more than one prophet? Enter Lorene Davis. What happens when the apocalypse starts, Lori is shanghaied into the war, and Lucifer takes his vessel? S5 Dean/OC *Temporary Hiatus*
1. Chapter 1

**Here is my second try at a Supernatural story. The first one I posted was too safe, too used. This one is completely different in every way. It's darker and truer to the show. Also, c****redit goes to **coffeeandcigarettes**, my wonderful beta. Without her this story wouldn't be out. Thank you! Now enjoy. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. All credit there goes to Eric Kripke and Robert Singer. I got dibs on Lori; that's about it. **

**Summary: In the Old Testament there were sixteen prophets; Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and Daniel were the Major Prophets followed by twelve other minor ones. In Supernatural there is only one: Chuck. What if it was discovered that the Winchester brothers had more than one prophet to retell their story? Enter Lorene Davis. What happens when the apocalypse starts, Lori is shanghaied into the war alongside Sam and Dean, and Lucifer takes his vessel? **

The demon before me was pacing, a smirk, nothing short of sadistic, plastered on her pale features. She nodded to the demon gripping my right shoulder; her lackey I assume. At her gesture, his grip on my shoulder tightened. I could feel his finger tips digging into my skin, the pressure causing rips through my now frail shirt. Slowly, he started to rear my shoulder back. Pain ricocheted through my arm as I felt it slowly twist out of its socket. I clamped down on my bottom lip in an attempt to silence my screams. Blood, little by little, trickled down my chin. I could hear the low, satisfactory chuckles of her minions.

The brunette leader stopped pacing. She stood directly in front of me, her smirk gradually shifting into a grin. "Now, I know you're aware of their location. Tell me where they are…"

"And if I don't?" I managed to quip. My voice was hoarse but strong. Without responding, she glared. One of the many demons scattered around the dark, melodramatic warehouse stepped forward. He lifted his hand, his fingers slowly curling. The breath started to escape me. My chest began to constrict, my lungs slowly collapsing within my body. I gasped from the sudden pain as the lack of oxygen sent me into a spiraling panic. Eyes wide, I looked at the chief demon.

"Stop," she demanded.

The pain halted instantly. My breath came rushing back in quick pants. I began to sputter and cough, my body lurching forward from the movement. The demon clutching my body yanked me upright almost immediately. My back smacked against the splintered, wooden chair. I ground my teeth together; I was frustrated, my body crimpling from the pain, and I was pissed, at a loss for what to do.

"Lori, sweetie, we can do this the easy way-"

"Or the hard way?" I scoffed.

"Or the easier way," she pursed her lips. "You tell me where the Winchesters are and the pain stops now. You don't and we'll kill you."

A week ago, I wouldn't have believed the Winchesters were anything more than a figment of my eccentric imagination. Now, sitting in an abandoned warehouse being tortured by demons, I'm feeling the faith of their existence. Images of Dean and Sam frantically entered my mind; the Impala, John, Castiel, Mary, Bobby. Everything I've dreamt over the past three years has been _very_ real. But, why make it easy for the demon bitch? Raising my gaze, my stare on the demon hardened. "I'm just supposed to believe that they're real, and that this isn't just some sort of hallucination? Perhaps just another dream?"

The pain in my chest flooded back ten-fold. Then, just as quickly as it came, the pain was gone. Once again gasping, I glared at her. "Did that feel real?"

"Okay, you're real, and they're real…I guess the Winchesters _are_ real. Which means everything else is real as well; the angels, Lilith, Castiel, Lucifer…and the apocalypse. Now you want me to tell you the location of the only two people on Earth who might actually have a fighting chance of saving my ass?" I snorted, "No thanks."

Abruptly, a fist met my jaw. Then another, and another; hay-maker after hay-maker. Each punch felt worse than the last. Whether that was from their growing strength or my weakening resistance, I'm not sure. Finally, the hits slowed then stopped altogether. The female demon spoke softly, "Where's little Sammy?"

"Go to hell."

"Sweetie, I'm already there, and so are you. Give it up. Where is he?" she repeated, her voice laced with anger. My silence echoed throughout the warehouse. Catching my drift, she murmured, "Okay…where's Dean?"

The demon's grip on my shoulders intensified once more. Still, I held my tongue. Snarling, another one of her minions raised his hand. Just as he was about to sweep it across my cheeks, I growled, "Okay! Okay! I'll tell you…damn."

Grinning, the leader encouraged me on. I glanced around the broad room. My eyes swept from demon to demon, their eyes black as onyx staring back at me. Each of them seemed to glow with satisfaction. They wore identical grins and smirks. My lips parted, "They…they're right around the corner from kiss-my-ass."

Needless to say, that little line didn't please them in the least bit. The pain that followed was endless. I lost count of how long it lasted. I think I eventually passed out and when the hollowed slumber consumed me, the dreams returned. Dean and Sam Winchester were in a hotel room. That was no surprise. The surprise came from the youthful, awkward girl that stood in the center of the room with them. She had a retainer and long, stringy brown hair. Her eyes were wide, her movements spastic, her breath ragged.

"Forty-two _dogs_?" Dean scoffed, shooting his brother a knowing look. Sam winced, "Are you sure you got that right?"

"It doesn't make sense. But that's what he said. I memorized every word…for you," the girl breathed. She waltzed over to Sam and proceeded to grin at him. Her fingers slipped up his chest, spreading across his pectoral muscles.

Sam grimaced. "Uh…uh, Becky? Can you please stop touching me?"

"No."

The motel room slowly started to disintegrate. The Winchesters disappeared, the girl too. Gradually, the walls of the room faded, replaced by the warehouse cinderblocks. The cool air chilled my skin; the chair and demons around me materialized. My brow furrowed as I regained consciousness. Never has one of my dreams been so vague or brief. Usually they last for hours on end.

_Lorene… _

Startled, I straightened up. The remaining four demons seemed unaffected by my awakening. Cocking an eyebrow, I shifted my body sore.

_Lorene…_

The voice was familiar, calm and regal. It took me about ten seconds to realize it wasn't one of the demons; that I was hearing it within the confines of my mind. The mystery voice repeated itself once more and, with a striking revelation, I recognized it - Castiel. Castiel the warrior, rebel angel. The first angel to walk on Earth for two-thousand years, the angel who snatched Dean from the pit, the angel who defied his superiors and tried to stop the apocalypse, but more importantly, the angel who was killed by the archangel protecting Chuck, a prophet of the Lord.

_Lorene…_

_You're dead, _I thought back.

_If I was dead, would you hear me? _My eyes scanned the room, an unsettling feeling worming its way through my body. He spoke once more, _Lorene, close your eyes._

The worried feeling increased as I groaned and clenched my eyes shut. Suddenly, all the noise in the room was muted out. Nothing but silence. Then, a high pitched ringing began. I could sense heat, warmth, light, as the ringing grew louder. My hands flew to my ears, clutching them firmly. I coiled together, drawing my knees upward and sliding into the fetal position. Behind my closed eye lids, I could see the outlines of a blinding, white light. Unexpectedly, the ringing stopped. The light was gone.

"Lorene," Castiel's voice sang. However, this time, it was not inside my head. Cautiously, I unfolded. My eyes fluttered open and I lifted my head. The warehouse was void of all demons; I was alone except for the man now standing in the middle of the open room. The man before me had short, wispy black hair, dazzling blue eyes, lightly tanned skin, and soft, pink lips. He wore a black suit and fitted, white button down that was equipped with a blue tie. On his shoulders hung a beige over coat. This man…was in fact, not a man but an angel I've dreamt of many times.

My jaw dropped in disbelief, my lips parting. His name rolled off my tongue, "Castiel."

"Hello, Lorene. Come, we must move quickly." The angel extended a hand, mine for the taking. Despite my heightened fear of the unknown, I felt no hesitation what-so-ever as I stood, shakily, and took his hand. The world flashed by in clips and sounds. I couldn't make heads or tails of it. The spinning stopped leaving a nauseated feeling in my throat. We were in what appeared to be a hotel suite. Brow furrowing, I faced Castiel. "Where are we?"

"I must find Sam and Dean. I need you safe. You will stay here; do not leave this room. There is food in the fridge," his voice was as monotone as ever. The angel dropped my hand and turned towards the door. In front of the entry way I recognized the symbol known as 'the Devil's Trap' painted in black on the carpeted floor. There was a thick line of salt laced on the doorway. With a quick glance around the room, I spotted salt lines on the two windows as well. "Do you know where they are?"

"No," I mumbled. "Well, yes but no. Some hotel room. A girl is with them-"

"A girl?"

"Yes. She said something about forty-two dogs…" I trailed off realizing how insignificant that must sound.

Castiel interrupted my train of thought, "Nothing is insignificant, Lorene. All will be important."

"What does that mean?"

"Be safe, Lorene. Do not leave until I return," and with that, the angel was gone. A sigh left my lips, my chest constricting in frustration. I gave a futile groan and gingerly sat down on the bed. There were so many questions swimming through my mind and I had no answers. My head rested in my hands as I tried to sooth my headache. Peeking out through my fingers, I studied the room. The suite wasn't terribly large, but nicer than the ones the Winchester boys often called home. It was pleasantly furnished with antique-styled fixtures. There was a flat screen television hanging on the wall, a mini-fridge in the table in corner by a microwave, and a door leading to what I assumed was a bathroom.

My still sore body was aching and I couldn't think of a way to ease the pain other than to sleep it off. The bed was comfortable and though the idea sounded more and more appealing, I smelled. Horrifically. Moaning in pain, I stood and ambled towards the bathroom. I retrieved a towel from the linen shelf and checked for soap and shampoo. Turning on the shower, I heard the water wheezing out the faucet. I peeled off my sweat and blood drenched clothes. My naked body stared back at me via the large mirror hanging above the sink. I felt pity for myself; my pale skin was covered in blue and purple bruises. My left eye was puffy along with my lips, which were cut with little slits. Blood was caked onto my chin, bits specked on my cheeks and lips. The person looking back at me was not someone I recognized. This person was a regular in the life of demons, ghosts, witches, and spirits; this person knew about the supernatural and what was to come for our world, a world rapidly being over taken by Lucifer; this person was being held hostage by an angel. The person I was, or the person I used to be at least, was a loud, fun-loving girl who was always happy and normal. My level of normality seemed to slowly drop as I started having odd dreams - dreams about two brothers, Sam and Dean, whose mother had been murdered by a demon. The dreams told me of their lives growing up with a hunter for a father. The dreams showed me the strength of their bond that had been withered by demon blood. The dreams clued me in on the start of the apocalypse thanks to Sam Winchester, the younger of the two, who killed the demon called Lilith and set Lucifer free.

Mist that had begun to fog up the mirror pulled me momentarily from my thoughts. Reaching over, I turned the water down a bit, and stepped in. The water immediately soaked my hair. I could feel the beads of H2O rush down my skin. Once my body was cool and moist, my thoughts drifted back to my dreamland. The dreams had started three years ago. The first dream was the night Mary Winchester was murdered by Azazel and her son was tainted with demon blood. I was shaken up afterwards; I couldn't figure out what had triggered the dream. More followed after that, about once or twice a month. Then, as the dreams got darker and I fell deeper, they came frequently. I started dreaming once or twice a week. I started to react to situations like I felt the brothers would. To me, they weren't just people I dreamt of, they were part of me. Two men I created with my extremely far-fetched imagination, they were family.

Eventually, the dreams escalated. I'd have them every night. Vivid, emotional, true dreams. I'd wake in sweats or tears, and when I saw Lilith sic the hell hounds on Dean, I woke crying. I cried until I couldn't produce more tears and then sat in silence for hours. For some reason, I'd taken to Dean more so than Sam. Don't get me wrong, I loved Sam; I loved them both. But, when he chose to side with Ruby, a demon, against Dean, his brother who had done nothing but give for him, my heart broke. My heart broke for Dean. I understand Sam's reasoning, though; he was desperate. He needed to help, to avenge his big brother's death. But, when Dean returned from hell, it became more than that. Sam craved the blood, he wanted it. And that was wrong.

I found out my dreams were real two weeks ago when demons started attacking my home town. Three of them had come to a baseball tournament a friend of mine was playing at. I was in a trance watching him pitch when one of the men caught my eye. The wicked smile was sort of creepy, but it was the flash of black in his eyes that gave him away. I froze in the midst of the screaming fans, unsure of what to do. When I saw him and the two others guiding a woman behind the dugouts, I freaked. My eyes scanned the local townspeople, as if searching for an answer. They landed on Mary Bess. She was a loyal Catholic girl who I worked with as a life guard. I dashed over to her and begged for her Rosary beads. She hesitated before nodding, and passed them to me. I ran to the concession stand and snatched up a water bottle. Unscrewing the top, I dropped in the beads and began to bless it with a ritual I'd heard John, Dean, Sam, Pastor Jim, and Bobby use many times, "_Exorcizo te, creatura aquæ, in nomine Dei Patris omnipotentis, et in nomine Jesu Christi, Filii ejus Domini nostri, et in virtute Spiritus Sancti: ut fias aqua exorcizata ad effugandam omnem potestatem inimici, et ipsum inimicum eradicare et explantare valeas cum angelis suis apostaticis, per virtutem ejusdem Domini nostri Jesu Christ: qui venturus est judicare vivos et mortuos et sæculum per ignem._"

I ran to where the demons had taken the woman and saw the pinning her against the dugout wall. One had taken off her top and left it lying in the dirt, discarded. The demon before her ran his hand over her stomach. "This won't be over quickly…"

"Dear God, please let this work," I whispered. Tossing the top aside I gripped the bottle and squirted one of them with the now holy water. Upon contact, the demon's vessel writhed in pain. The other two turned on me, letting go of the woman. "Run!" I demanded her. Weeping, she did so and I was left alone to face the evil trio. In my panic, it never occurred to me that holy water doesn't kill demons, it only burns them. Obviously, I was defenseless. They easily over-powered me and after countless hours of torture, she showed up-the brunette bitch that tormented me in the warehouse just hours ago. Her superior "told her of me." She knew my name, my history, my life. The queen demon explained to me the severity of the situation, she provided proof that everything I've seen was real, and then proceeded to question me.

The pain lasted for days and I was losing hope that it would ever end. Thank God for Castiel. If the rebel angel hadn't shown up…I don't know how much longer I would have been able to withstand it.

Ignoring the growls and grumbles of my stomach, I finished showering and dried off. I had nothing with me so I checked the room for fresh clothes. The only thing I found was a plush, white bath-rob. My fingers ran across the fabric. A small smile appeared on my features as I slipped it on. Tying it around my waste, I waltzed over to the fridge and cracked it open. Castiel wasn't lying when he said there was food in the fridge. The small white freezer box was packed with everything from Avaon waters to Miller's Light, from strawberries to cookie dough, and more sensible things like ham, turkey, and little frozen meals.

"Miller's Light?" I asked the room. "Good job, Cas - let me get drunk while trying to stay hidden."

I grabbed up a water and some cookie dough. I popped a bit into my mouth while taking out a TV dinner - pasta and chicken covered in a marinara sauce. It wasn't exactly a five-star meal but it looked appetizing enough. I tore it of the box, peeled back the plastic cover, and pushed it into the microwave. I polished off the entire roll of cookie dough, ate the dinner, and finished my water before climbing into bed. Getting under the thick, quilt-like blankets, I snuggled with the pillow and closed my eyes. It occurred to me that I never checked if the door was locked or not. Then again, anyone who would be coming after me wouldn't be stopped by locks. Shrugging it off, I shut my eyes and slipped into a dream-filled slumber with last little thoughts of two brothers I would soon hopefully meet.


	2. Chapter 2

**The episode Thursday night was bad ass. Twenty bucks says Sammy lets Lucifer use his body. I can't wait until next week. Dean goes to the future and see's Lucifer's end game: a virus that makes humans flesh-eating zombies. It sounds promising, especially considering we get to see future Sam and Dean. Anyway, here's chapter two. Give your opinion. It's always appreciated. **

I stayed in the hotel room for nearly four days after Castiel's departure. On the second day I began to worry. I had no clothes, no way of contact with the outside world, no clue were I was, and soon I would run out of food. However, that night, when I went to eat dinner, I found that the fridge had been replenished. It was packed loaded once more with a new variety of foods.

"You have got to be kidding me," I scoffed. Shutting the mini fridge's door, I glanced at the ceiling. "Come on, Castiel. You can't just leave me here."

As if expected the angel himself to appear, I waited. Unsurprisingly, nothing happened. There was no Castiel, there was no sign, there was nothing. My chest heaved a sigh in frustration and I plopped back onto the bed.

During my four day vacation from the real world, I'd had many dreams. Especially the first night when I slept for roughly fourteen hours. In one of the first dreams, Bobby, a family friend to the Winchester sort of like a second father to the boys, had been hurt. While being possessed by a demon Bobby had fought it and managed to stab himself with Ruby's knife, successfully killing the demon and injuring himself. I saw the boys take him to the emergency room; I saw the doctor's stapling the wound; I saw him resting.

When that dream abruptly ended, my vision flashed to the boys in what appeared to be some sort of safe house. There were symbols and devil's traps all around the room. Boxes lined shelves on the walls and benches scattered throughout. Two bodies lay discard on the floor. They stood, talking to Zachariah and his angel drones. My mind was weak and I could barely make out what they were saying. Concentrating harder on my dreamland, my brain strained and the vision was made clearer.

"…kill Lucifer? You simpering wad of insecurity and self-loathing? No. You're just a human, Dean. And not much one of them," Zachariah bit off. Dean was glaring at the superior angel, "What do you mean I'm the sword?"

"Michael's weapon. Or rather…it's receptacle."

Sam's eyes were darting around the room, traveling from angel to angel, then finally landing on his brother. Dean met his brother's gaze, then looked ahead in disbelief. He snapped in disbelief, "I'm a vessel?"

"You're 'the' vessel. Michael's vessel."

"How?" he growled. "Why? Why me?"

"Because you're chosen! It's a great honor, Dean!"

Disgusted, Dean rolled his eyes, "Oh, yeah. Yeah, life as an angel condom. That's real fun!"

The dreams to follow were less clear; often they were shorter and sketchy. I sat and wrote everything down on the hotel pad they kept by the telephone (which, naturally didn't work). I tried to figure out what they meant, what meaning they could possibly hold. Dean was a vessel, Michael's vessel. So Michael was an angel…wasn't he the angel who had defeated Lucifer the first time around? And they wanted Dean do help with that? He wouldn't do it; Dean didn't trust the angels. That much I was sure but where was Castiel? And where were they now? More importantly, where's God? Why is he letting Zachariah led the superior angels into the apocalypse?

Mulling these questions over, I came to the conclusion that the angels wanted Lucifer to clean off Earth. Get rid of all the humans they view so lowly; basically doing their dirty work them. Then, they want Michael to send Lucifer back to the pit via Dean and paradise on Earth would commence. It was horrible. Sure, the angels weren't causing the apocalypse but they were encouraging it. Then again, they did make Castiel free Sam when he was locked up at Bobby's. Had he not been freed and had time to detox from demon blood he wouldn't have been able to kill Lilith and Satan would still be trapped.

There were too many theories and not enough resolutions. Too many small clips and blurs of events. I couldn't figure out what was going on. All the problems had brought on a migraine. Trying to distract myself, I flipped on the television, settling for a rerun of House. Dr. House was rambling on about faking cancer to Dr. Cuddy. She was chiding him when a male nurse came in and said the board of directors wanted to speak with her. The nurse, for some reason, seemed oddly familiar. The shape of his jaw…the skin…the scruff…who was he?

Mr. Manning perhaps? Mr. Mann was my old drama teacher when I was in high school. But no…hmmm, maybe Henry, my cousin? No. Uh, David Greer? Oh! Eric Bana! Nope…

Twenty minutes later and I still had no idea. I had managed to watch the rest of the episode in a daze, the question still lingering. Finally, I got pissed because it was driving me crazy and turned the channel just in time to see a commercial for a movie called Twilight, some stupid vampire movie. A small girl was on the screen writing in a journal, "_Of about three things I am absolutely positive. First, Edward was a vampire. Second, there was a…"_

"Edward…?" I mumbled. The name seemed to click in my brain. It clicked with the male nurse from House. "Edlund! Carver Edlund!"

Carver Edlund was the man who wrote the books about Sammy and Dean. Castiel had called him a prophet. Maybe he could help me. But how would I find him? And what was his real name? Hadn't Carver Edlund just been a cover? Groaning, I punched my fist down on the mattress.

_Patience, Lorene… _

"Cas?!" I immediately shot up. But there was no one there. And silence only followed. "I'm loosing my mind…"

Another two days passed. Time seemed to matter very little. The only way I kept up with the date was on the notepad by the phone. I racked my brain for a way to contact Castiel. But I could not, for the life of me, figured out how. Just when I was about to give up all hope, he came. I was retrieving a water from the fridge and when I turned around he was there. With a shriek, I dropped the water.

"I am sorry for having startled you."

"Yeah…thanks," I winced. "…where've you been? I've been going insane here. What's going on? My dreams are so…unclear. And why is this happening? Why do I see things? See this? The brothers…you…why?"

"I know you have a lot of questions, Lorene, but now is not the time."

Sighing, I nodded, knowing Castiel didn't exactly have a lot of time. "My head hurts. It's too much. And it's Lori, by the way."

"Pardon?"

"Lori, call me Lori."

"Lori…" Castiel's head titled in that way it always seemed to do when he was contemplating humanity. His eyes narrowed in confusion, his lips parting as he thought. "Alright, Lori. We are going to find Dean. Do you know where he is?"

I shook my head, "No. The last time I saw him, he and Sam were fighting War. You don't know?"

"Dean is off our radar-"

"Because of Zachariah? Is he really Michael's vessel?"

"Yes, but I do not think he will apt to that task." As Castiel stepped around the room, I noticed a little trinket slipping out of his pocket. Eyeing it carefully, I spoke, "Dean's amulet."

"Hmm?"

"You have his necklace."

"Yes. You know of it?"

"Sam gave it to him for Christmas in '91. They were somewhere in Nebraska, I think. Broken Bow maybe…Bobby gave it to Sam for John but when John didn't return for Christmas, Sam gave it to Dean instead. Dean loves this necklace. The only time it's not been around his neck was when the shape shifter in St. Louis took it. You must have done a hell of a good job convincing him to give it to you," I lifted the necklace from his pocket, my fingers grasping the brass trinket. The necklace, I had seen many times in my dreams but never up close. I ran my fingertips over the face, tracing the horns of the head and the nose. Smiling softly, I handed it over to Castiel. "Why do you have it?"

"It will help me find God."

"Find…_God_? How?"

"We must find Dean," the angel ignored my question; something he seemed fond of doing. "Bobby will know. Get dressed, please."

During my stay at the hotel, I hadn't changed out of the robe, only taking it off when I would shower. I quickly changed into the tattered and worn clothes. Before rejoining the angel. "How are we-" but my answer was cut off as Cas raised two fingers to my head and the world went spiraling by. Imagines, flashes, sounds, that all abruptly ended with Bobby Singer's Salvage. Bobby's property was overgrown with weeds and lost hubcaps. His wrap around porch was littered with various car parts, broken furniture, and rocking chair. With no hesitation, Castiel bounding up the steps and knocked on the door. When their was no answer, he knocked once more, louder.

"I'm comin', hold your horses!" Bobby's muffled voice called. Anxious, I waiting behind Castiel, looking up from my spot on the ground. Suddenly, the door flew open. Bobby, fully equip with his trademark baseball cap, peered out. "What the hell do…oh, it's you. Whatta you want? And who the hell is she?"

"Where is Dean?" Castiel bluntly asked. Taking the steps two at a time, I made it to his side and peered at him anxiously. He barely glanced at me as Bobby led him inside. "Last I heard, he was somewhere in Pennsylvania. Somethin's been snatching up rugrats and eaten 'em alive."

Shutting the door, I followed after them. "Can I get you a beer or somethin'?"

"No thank you," Castiel replied. For both of us, I assumed, because when Bobby raised a bottle in my direction Cas pushed his hand away gently. "Do you know where in Pennsylvania?"

"Uh, let me check my GPS here. Oh wait, I forgot, I ain't got one on the boy," Bobby snorted, taking a swig of his beer muttered, 'Idjits' under his breath. Glancing up, he dug around for a moment before pulling a cell phone out from under a stack of books. "Give me a minute."

I couldn't help but smile at Bobby Singer's retreating form. He was just as I'd dreamt. Loud, sarcastic, scruffy, and amazing. I felt like he was family, like he was an uncle of mine; the uncle you went to when you needed bail money, or wanted a beer. It took a lot not to run up and hug him. To tell him I thought he was wonderful for everything he's done for the boys. When he returned, he plopped down into a chair and rubbed his leg.

"How are you? You shouldn't be walking," I murmured. Bobby shot Castiel a raised brow look and I apologized, "Sorry. It's just…well I saw you…with the knife. With Ruby's knife. You haven't been out of the hospital long, I assume. Your body's still probably weak."

"Well thanks for the concern _doc_, but my body's just fine."

"Yes sir," I stifled a grin.

"Dean's in Greely, Pennsylvania staying at the Get-Up N Go Inn. Said he's plannin' on headin' out tomorrow so I suggest you get a move on and hurry up," Bobby took of his cap, running a hand over his balding head. He took a another sip and glanced up at Cas who muttered a quick, "Thank you." Then, the room was gone. More spinning and changes, more flashes of light and sound. Then, we were in a motel room.

"You have got to stop doing that," I whispered as I rubbed my newly aching head. The space around us was brightly lit, the sound of running water coming from the adjoined room. Castiel walked towards the noise, "I'll get him."

"I'll…wait here," I shrugged. The bed wasn't three feet from me, the sheets ruffled and tossed back. Dean's bags sat along the wall and on the table in front of the sink. His trademark brown leather jacket was strewn across one of the chairs carelessly. Peering at his things, at his hotel room, it was hard for me to grasp that I was about to meet him. Meet Dean Winchester, the hero that often saved my dreams. The boy who I often turned to in my slumber to get me through the darker nights. The man I'd come to relate with. Subconsciously, my breaths came quicker, higher, my stomach plummeted to the floor, and my heart rapidly sped up. Then, out of the bathroom, he came. Followed by Castiel. His eyes landed on me, then darkened in suspicion. "Who is she?"

My lips parted, but no sound came. Tall, masculine, and rugged: he was everything I knew him to be and then some. His cheeks and jaw line were tattered with scruff, his blue eyes narrowing on my figure. Dean's lips pursed. The blonde glanced behind himself at Castiel, then back to me, "Cas, what's going on?"

Finally, I whispered, "Hey, Dean."


	3. Chapter 3

**My sister and I just got into a fight over who would win if Michael took Dean's vessel and Lucifer took Sam's. She argued that Dean would never let Michael kill Sammy just to send Lucifer back to hell. I disagree. Dean's tired of Sam's crap; he's tired of Sam screwing up and him having to fix it. I think if the fate of the entire world was at stake, he'd let Michael kill Lucifer. Then, of course, he would immediately try to get Sam medical help, but still. **

**Note: Paris Hilton will be staring on Supernatural October third! At first I was a little (very) if-y about this but then I read the blurb for the episode. I bet they get to kill her. ;] **

**Now, on with the story; please review! **

"Dean, this is Lorene. She is here to help-" but Castiel fell silent. His eyes slowly drifted around the room. "Where is Sam?"

"Sam and I are taking separate vacations for a while." Shooting a glance my way, he continued, "Help? Help with what?"

"Help us win the war." Shadily, Dean shot me a skeptical look. "She is a prophet of the lord, Dean. She will help in the end. But until then she needs our help…your protection."

"Excuse me?" Dean scoffed at the angel. My eyes widened, "You never told me I was a prophet? I just…I figured the dreams were….were…I don't know. I guess I figured I was like Sam, just more consistent."

"What dreams?"

"She sees you and your brother. Your pasts and futures, on occasion."

"She sees us?" Dean grimaced. "Like, our lives?"

"Yes, in dreams."

"So what, you're some kind of physic?" the eldest Winchester son turned on me. Giving a light shrug of disbelief, I mumbled, "Apparently not. I'm a proph-wait. No, I'm not. If I'm a prophet, where the hell was my damn archangel when those demons came to town?"

"What demons?"

"Some brunette and her minions. They wanted to know where you and Sam were."

"And?"

"She said nothing," Castiel cleared his throat. "This is not important-"

"Not important?" I snapped. "I was tortured, then kidnapped by an angel, and now you're telling me I'm a prophet. How the hell is that _not_ important?"

"This is not the time. There are more pressing matters," Castiel's demanding presence returned opposed to his more relaxed persona that seemed to come when he was around Dean. Facing the other man, he mumbled, "I promise all will be answered in due time."

The room fell silent. My head was spinning, my thoughts buzzing around busily. I was a prophet with no archangel. Even better, Castiel assumed that Dean would take to catering me around but I knew other wise. Dean hated civilians and despite my extensive knowledge of the supernatural, I _was_ a civilian. I've never hunted before. The only thing I've faced has been demons, and an angel if you count Castiel. Clearing his throat, Dean crossed the room and started to pack, "So, find God yet? And more importantly, can I have my damn necklace back, please?"

"No I haven't found him. That's why we're here. I need your help."

"If you're talking about a God hunt, no thanks. I'm not interested," Dean muttered.

"No. It's not God. Someone else."

"Who?" I piped up. Dean glanced at me, but otherwise kept his focus on Castiel. "It's the archangel. The one who killed me."

"Excuse me?" Dean's body leaned forward ever-so-slightly, his eyebrows hitching. Cas stood taller, seeming to match Dean's height. "His name is Raphael."

"You were wasted by a Teenage Mutant Ninja Angel?" In spite of his mocking tone, a small smile had lifted to his lips. I couldn't help but mirror his expression, a laugh getting caught in my throat. Parting my lips, I answered him, "Raphael is, well was, Carver Edlund's archangel."

"You mean, Chuck?" Chuck! That's his name! I knew it! But rather than shout that, I simply nodded. "He _was _his archangel?"

"After he killed Castiel he sort of dropped out on his duties."

"I've heard whispered that he's walking the Earth," Castiel cut in. "This is a rare opportunity."

"For what?" Dean quipped. "Revenge?"

"For information," Castiel corrected. Dean snorted a laugh and maneuvered around me, his un-sleeved arm brushing my shoulder. He was a good five inches taller than me, which made me feel impeccably short. A feeling I'm not used to considering I'm nearly 5'8". "So what?" Dean spoke as he continued gathering his things. "You think you're gonna find him, and this dude's just gonna spill God's address?"

"Yes. Because we are going to trap him and interrogate him," the determination in Cas's voice rang clear and strong. I glanced at Dean, my insides churning uncomfortably. This was weird, beyond weird in fact. It's borderline insanity, but it's real.

"You're serious about this?" Dean's voice was low. Nearly as quiet, Castiel replied, "Yes."

Feeling Dean's vibe, I straightened up, "Castiel, it's suicide."

"I agree with Blondie; give me one good reason I should do this."

Squaring his jaw in what appeared to be human frustration, Castiel quipped, "Because your Michael's vessel and no angel will dare harm you."

"Oh so I'm your bullet shield! And what about her? We gonna take her into this?" Dean gave a haughty laugh, shaking his head. Castiel peered at me, as if searching for an answer. Biting my lip, I shrugged. The warrior angel sighed and stepped closer to Dean, "I need your help…because you are the only one who will help me." Castiel's voice was low, weak, and on the verge of desperation. "Please."

The motel room was silent. "Alright fine," Dean sighed moments later. "Where is he?"

"Maine. Let's go," Castiel clasped my arm and raised two fingers to Dean's forehead. Dean suddenly jerked back, his hands rising in 'stop' motion, "Whoa! Whoa!"

"Last time you zapped me someplace I didn't-" Dean abruptly smacked his lips shut, his eyes on me. Cocking a brow in response, I asked, "Yes?"

"Nothing. I, huh, I just can't leave my wheels. We're driving," he decided. With one final glance at me and Castiel, he slipped into his jacket, slung a bag over his shoulder, grabbed the other two and trekked out the door. I sighed and quietly followed after him. In the parking lot, two spaces down, sat the infamous '67 Chevy Impala. She was black, hard toped, and four door-ed. She gleamed with a sleek luster, shiny under the street lights that began to flicker on.

Whistling low, I grinned, "She's beautiful, Dean. Four cylinder, right?"

"Sure is," he beamed proudly as he dropped his bags in the trunk. Shutting it easily, he asked, "How'd you know?"

"I remember you convincing John to buy it over that horrible Volkswagen stoner-van. You started rambling on about the engine," I answered now standing next to him. "She's an amazing piece of machinery."

"Oh she is much more than that," a grin of remembrance flooded his face. Winchester peered lovingly at his car, his eyes glassing over. I followed his gaze and locked onto the metallic beauty. This car had been in their family since before Dean or Sam were born, before they were even thought of. Hell, John's had this car since '83 before he and Mary were engaged, thanks to Dean. Dean loved this car as much, if not more, than he loved his brother. Staring down at her, I couldn't say I blamed him. We stood in silence marveling the car before a loud, "Shall we be going?" broke our concentration.

Together, we faced Castiel. Dean Winchester nodded, "Sure thing, Cas. Let's go. Uh…" Dean grimaced, trying to smirk. "Sorry but what's your name again?"

"Lori…Davis."

Grinning his signature smile, Dean nodded in my direction, "Hi Lori. I'm Dean."

"I know. The whole 'physic' thing? Remember?"

"I thought you were a prophet?"

Scoffing, I shrugged, "Labels."

The three of us climbed into the Impala (I shut my door with extra ease not wanting to already piss off Dean) and headed to Waterville, Maine. Dean driving, Cas sitting shotgun, and my lazy body strewn in the back seat, we drove through the night. We took highway 81, which connected with 84 and led us straight out of Pennsylvania through New York and Connecticut. I slept for about half of the nine hour drive. My dreams lingering on Sam. He had gotten a job in a bar somewhere in Oklahoma. He was working as a waiter and busboy with some blonde girl named Lindsey.

In my last dream, I caught a glimpse of him talking to Bobby on the phone about some omens near Garber. I debated whether or not to let Dean know his little brother was okay. Since they were taking 'separate vacations for a while', I decided I better not. Obviously, they were apart for a reason.

Around eleven that morning, we stopped at a diner in Lowell, Massachusetts. Castiel didn't eat but Dean and I hungrily chowed down on our burgers and fries. "Did you drive the entire time?" I asked him, popping a French fry into my mouth. Dean was sitting on the other side of the booth, opposite Cas and myself. Dean clutched his cup and took a sip of coke, "Yep."

"You should rest…" Castiel concluded, obviously overlooking the small fact that humans needed sleep.

"He won't," I muttered. Wiping my salty fingers on my napkin, I took a bite of my burger. Chewing, I glanced up. Met with two pairs of intense eyes, I shrunk back into the seat, "What?"

"I won't?" Dean scoffed.

"No, you won't. Castiel doesn't know how to drive and you don't know me so there's no way in hell you'll let me drive the Impala. Unless you two want to stop here and let him take a nap for a while, which you won't because Castiel would have a conniption fit because we'd be losing precious time. So no, Dean won't be snoozing until we reach Maine," I made my point clear, then polished off my meal. The two men gazed at me, then glanced at each other before Dean shuddered, "Dude, that's freaky." Raising his hand, he called out, "Check please?"

We pursued on through New Hampshire and made it to Waterville at exactly three-fifty one. The rest of the way we listened to Castiel's depiction of a riot in town that had broken out for no known reason. Apparently, that's where Raphael had been spotted. Dean didn't bother checking into a motel but stopped at a gas station. Climbing from the car, he paused at the window, "I need to go change. Cas, will you pump?"

"Excuse me?" the angel tilted his head.

"You don't know how to pump gas?" Dean scoffed. "God, you angels got…" but he trailed off as I slid out the back seat. "I'm fully aware how to pump gas."

"Alright then," he grinned. "The tank's-"

"On the tail end, above the license plate. I know," I slid the nozzle off the pumping station. Dean peered at me then grimaced, "You really have to stop doing that."

Smiling, I spoke, "Sorry. Go change."

"Demanding. I like that." As I held the nozzle against the car, I couldn't help but stare after Dean's retreating figure. He was exactly like I've dreamt. Signature smirk, cocky grin, sarcastic and often perverted jokes. He was at ease in such a messed up world. Here lately, however, Dean had been much more troubled and seemed okay with letting people know he wasn't pleased. It suddenly occurred to me that my presence might shatter that growth. Dean has always felt the need to impress women, no matter what. Thankfully, when I first showed up with Castiel, he mostly ignored me. Contrary to the popular belief that I should probably take that as defect on my part, I didn't. I was glad he was losing his womanizing persona.

When Winchester returned to the car, he had shed his layers of hunter green, brown leather, and black clothing and replaced it with a suit and tie. As he approached the car and I returned the nozzle to the station, I whistled. "Nice monkey suit."

"Shut up," he grumbled, tossing his clothes in the trunk. Inside the bathroom, he'd made friendly talk with a drunk who'd been puking his guts out in one of the stalls. Stating his persona as FBI Special Agent Alonso Mosely, he asked the drunk for directions to the local police station. When we pulled up to the station, we piled out of the car. Dean straightened his tie and glanced at Castiel as the angel spoke, "A deputy sheriff has laid eyes on the archangel."

"And he still has eyes?" Dean scoffed. A small smile tugged on my lips. We locked gazes then. I was the first to look away, and back at Castiel. "Alright, what's the plan?"

"We tell the officer that he witnessed an angel of the lord. Then the officer will tell us where the angel is," Castiel simply stated. For once, it was an appropriate time for me to scoff, "Are you serious? Castiel you can't just-"

"Walk in there and tell him the truth," Dean and I chorused. Passing a glance, I felt my body tense, chills rise on my skin. The angel peered back at us, either curious or confused. Perhaps both. "Why not?"

"Because," Dean reopened the driver's side door. Reaching into the car and pulled out a black leather case. "We're humans. And when humans want something really, really bad…we lie."

Eyeing the leather case, I reach out and grasped the item. Upon grabbing it, our hands brushed and I couldn't help but blush when he looked at me. Flipping it open, I grinned. It was an FBI I.D. badge; low and behold, there was Castiel's, or should I say Jimmy Novak's, head shot. Handing it back to Dean, he shrugged at my question glance. "I thought it might come in handy one day."

"And so it has."

"Now as for you-" but I cut the oldest Winchester off, "I'm staying here."

"Why?"

Shrugging, I answered the angel, "It would be weird for two Feds to just have a random woman following them."

"I'm sure it would be fine."

I shook my head, "Nope. You boys got this. Go on." Truthfully, I wanted to follow. I didn't want to be alone for another second for fear of danger. I'm not sure if that danger was from demons or pissed archangels, or from my personal insanity but either way, it did not matter. I know how the Winchester's work cases. It would be best for me to just lay low and out of the way.

"Why?" Castiel suddenly asked.

"Why what?" I cocked a brow. The blue-eyed man clarified, "Why do humans lie?"

"Because that's how you become president." Without another word, Dean turned and walked towards the doors. Castiel silently followed. I leaned against the door of the Impala, watching their retreating figures. My eyes stayed locked onto the back of their heads until they disappeared into the brick building. Once again, I slid into the back seat of the Impala, locked the doors, and laid down. Closing my eyes, I whispered to my dreams, "Okay Sammy. What've you got for me?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you to everyone who has review or altered/faved this story. Especially **coffeeandcigarettes**, my awesome beta. Doing this story is getting slightly difficult; I don't want to be cliché and keep to the exact same story line as the show but it's hard not to because of upcoming episodes. Plus, I don't know how much of what Sam is doing I want Lori to see…oh well. I'll figure something out. Enjoy. Review! **

"_Things are never going to change for you - never," Jessica Lee Moore spoke softly as she lay beside her boyfriend. Sam shook his head, "You're wrong. People can change. There is reason for hope." _

_Sam sat up, sliding his legs off the edge of the bed. His back to Jess, he ran a weary hand over his stress-worn face. Jessica propped up; her eyes bore into the back of her lover's head, "No, there isn't." _

_Sam sighed, his lips quivering, "How can you be so sure?" _

Suddenly, somewhere a car door slammed. I jumped, startled, just in time to see Dean slide into the driver's seat. "Next time, you come in, Cas stays in the car."

"Went that well, huh?" I asked, rubbing my eyes. My memory was fuzzy. I knew I had been dreaming, but now, as I tried to recall the dream, I couldn't. Blinking repeatedly, I heard Dean scoff, "Let's just say Cas is the worst liar ever."

As if on cue, the black haired angel came waltzing over to the car and slipped in. He didn't not speak, just sat peacefully and quietly. Raising my brow, I asked, "Alright. So what's the deal?"

"According to deputy Framing a riot broke out at a gas station. About forty people in an all out kill-or-be-killed brawl. Gas station blows up in a pure white light. When the smoke clears, he see's a man unscratched kneeling on the ground-"

"Raphael?" I cut him off.

"That's what we're thinking," he met my eyes in the rearview mirror as he started the car and backed out. As we pulled out of the parking lot, he continued, "The man's a local, Donnie Finamen. He was the mechanic down at the station. Apparently he's now at St. Pete's. It's a mental clinic uptown."

"Of course," I rolled my eyes. "You know where?"

"Yes ma'am," he tossed me a wink. Suppressing a smile, I leaned back and watched the town pass, blurry through the window. Ten minutes later, we arrived at St. Pete's. The mental clinic was simple and small with a neatly clipped lawn and bright flowers around the edges of the pathway. Inside, Dean plastered on the Winchester charm and politely asked the young girl behind the desk where his 'dear family friend Donnie Finamen' was. Without hesitation, she pointed him in the right direction. Dean glanced over his shoulder and nodded for us to follow. I took Castiel's arm, "Come on, Castiel."

Together the three of us roamed the halls until finally, Dean stopped. We were outside patient room 1312. Through the wide window that separated the room and hall, we could see a black man, possibly mid-twenties, early-thirties in a wheel chair. He was hunched over, staring at a spot on the tiled floor of his room. Dean's voice filled my ears, "I take it that's not Raphael anymore?"

"Just an empty vessel," Castiel replied. Though his voice was normal, you could practically hear the desperation and disappointment shining through. Dean snorted, shaking his head, "So this is what I'm looking at when Michael jumps my bones?"

"No. Michael is far more powerful. It would be much worse for you."

The angel turned and retreated. Looking up at Dean, I exhaled, "Good luck with that."

"Oh yeah, thanks."

We drove around town for nearly thirty minutes before we decided we weren't going to find a hotel anywhere close. Dean decided to head to the neighboring town, Oakland, in search of a place to stay. Just as we left city limits, he noticed a dirt road that curved up to what appeared to be an abandoned house. "We'll check it out." The house was as he had predicted. Most of the porch was rotted, there was very little furniture, and the walls were in serious need of a paint job. Whilst Dean was unloading the trunk I sat on the steps just inside the door, Castiel standing over me, "How are you holding up?"

"I've got it together. I'd be better if I knew what was going on," peering up at him, I sighed. "Castiel, where is my archangel? If I'm a prophet, shouldn't I be protected?"

He seemed unsure how to answer at first. "Your angel, like many, has given up the fight. He has subdued to the whims of Zachariah. You are key, Lori, like all the lords prophets. Since your archangel…" Cas trailed off.

"Has left the building?" I offered. He titled his head, "What?"

"Since he's left."

"Yes. You need protection. Dean can provide that for you."

"Cas, no he can't."

"Dean is very skilled. He will not let you-" Frustrated, I stood off the steps. Eye to eye with the man of the lord, I shook my head, "That's not what I meant. He's working, Castiel. Saving people, hunting things. If I'm there, he'll slip up. He'll get slowed down or distracted and if he's distracted on a hunt, he could get hurt. Badly, Cas. I can't get in the wa-"

"You are more important."

"What does that mean?" I nearly shouted. "Would you please stop being so vague?"

My head was reeling. Regardless of the fact that I now know the reason behind the dreams, the reason for lack of an archangel, I still had a dozen plus questions and Castiel seemed to have a habit of withholding answers. Picking my head up, I was met with an open room - the angel was gone. "Cas?"

"He does that a lot," Dean appeared in the doorway, tugging a cooler behind him. He dropped it by the fireplace and faced me. "He'll be back soon."

"I'll take your word for it."

Dean sat at the table and pulled out a thick, brown leather journal. Tattered pages, paperclips, and articles tucked inside stuck out of the binding. He unhooked the large strap that ran across the front and flipped the cover. He continuously tossed through the pages, occasionally stopping and reading for a moment. "John's journal."

Dean's eyes leapt to my face. "Yeah. So you've really seen everything? Everything Sam and I have ever done?"

"Not everything," I joined him at the table. "But the important things."

"Like?"

"Uh, Mary's death," at the mention of his mother, Dean's eyes hardened. His body went rigid. His jaw set. "I got clips and bits of your childhoods. I saw you learn to hunt…I saw John give you the Impala…I saw Sam go off to college, and the fight that ensued prior to that…I saw Cassie-"

"Cassie?" he asked. "So you see…that stuff too?"

My cheeks burned under his scrutinizing stare. I bit my lip and nodded, "That stuff too. But again, it's not like a movie I can watch at any time. It comes in images and sometimes short clips. Half the time it doesn't make sense. And it's never in sequence. At least not up until lately."

"What do you mean?" Dean mumbled.

"These last few months everything I've dreamt has been in order. From Sam killing Lilith up to you two fighting War," I clarified.

"Looks like you and Chuck are in the same boat then," Dean's eyes drifted back to the journal. My lips pursed, "Let's just hope it doesn't tip over."

Time passed quickly. It began to darken outside and wasn't until after seven that Castiel returned. I had just popped a beer from the cooler; an odd occurrence for me to do. Dean retrieved one as well and we raised them, muttered "cheers", and drank. Polishing them both off, I took them and threw them in the bin when I turned around, Castiel was standing in the middle of the living room, a rather ancient looking vas in his hands.

"Ah! Damnit! Stop doing that."

Dean lifted his head at my outburst. "Where've you been?"

"Jerusalem."

"Oh, how was it?"

Castiel gambled over to us, placing the urn on the table, "Arid."

"What's that?" I pointed to the vas. The angel met my eyes, "It's oil. It's very special. And very rare."

Dean snorted, "Great. We're gonna trap Raphael with a nice vinaigrette? So this ritual of yours, when's it gotta go down?"

Castiel took my former seat, his hands falling limply into his lap. "Sun rise."

"Tell me something, you keep saying we're going to trap this guy but isn't that kinda like trapping a hurricane with a butterfly net?" Dean's sarcastic wit never phased the angel but I couldn't help but break out in a grin. A very small grin, mind you, but a grin none-the-less. Cas replied, "No. It's harder."

"That's a comforting thought," I retorted, the smile now gone. Dean's eyes traveled my frame, a sympathetic face on, "Do we have any chance of surviving this?"

The angel nodded, "You two do."

"So, odds are you are a dead man tomorrow," though it was phrased like a question, it came out more like a statement. With an eerie calmness, Castiel agree, "Yes."

"Wow," Dean shook his head. He began to pace about the room. I peered between the two of them, contemplating a proper response to the newfound knowledge. Dean, however, decided to continue, "Well, last night on earth. What, uh, what are your plans?"

Castiel modestly answered, "I just thought I'd sit here quietly."

"What? No, Castiel. If tonight's it you gotta go out big," I told him. Dean nodded, giving me a playful nudge in the shoulder, "Damn straight. Dude, come on. Anything? Booze? Women?"

"Women and booze?" I offered with a smirk. For the first time ever, whether in a dream or reality, Castiel the warrior angel of Heaven, truly looked uncomfortable. He shifted in the chair, casting his head in the other direction. I shot Dean a confused expression. He leaned forward, "You have been with a women before? Right? Or an angel, at least?"

A hand shot up to the side of Castiel's neck. He rubbed vigorously, fidgeting like a junkie having withdrawals. My jaw dropped in doubt, "You've _never_ been with someone? Never?"

"You mean to tell me you've never been up there doing a little cloud seeding?"

"I never had occasion, okay?" Castiel snapped in embarrassment. Dean snorted in query. He sauntered passed me, snatching up his jacket off the back of his chair. As he slid it on his shoulders, he spoke, "Alright. Let me tell you something. There are two things that I know for certain." He paused to adjust his collar. "One. Bert and Ernie are gay. Two. You are not gonna die a virgin. Not on my watch. Let's go."

He dug the keys to the Impala out of his pants pocket and trudged out the door. Castiel's eyes were wide. He looked at me like a child unsure what to do on the first day of school. With a whimpering, "aw" I took the angel's hand. "Come on, Cas."

It was no surprise that Dean Winchester could be given a town and find a whorehouse within minutes. In fact, I wouldn't be shocked if he had already known where it was. Dean took the led and I guided Cas inside, nearly having to drag him. "I swear, Castiel, you're the only man I know who is diffident when it comes to sex."

Cas winced at the word, his large, round eyes scaling the room inch by inch. The walls were purple, the lights white and bright. A low, melodic tempo carried throughout the room. All around us there were woman in skimpy get-ups and thick pumps, men falling over themselves to get their attention. Various tables and booths were set up around an island bar in the middle. On the back left wall there was a curtain hanging. I assumed it led to the rooms where escorts took their clients. One particularly slutty woman walked by in a leopard two piece and I felt my respect for fellow woman swiftly decreasing.

"This way," Dean led us to a booth across from the bar, near the rooms. He took a seat and motioned over a waitress. I gave Castile a shove towards the chairs. He seemed nauseated but did so with no objects. The only seat left sat between them.

"Hello there," a red-headed girl, no more than seventeen or eighteen appeared. She had a huge, sly grin spread across her face. She was dressed in black leather, her breasts popping out, smiling too. Dean instantly had a boy-ish smile. "Hello to you too."

"What can I get you gentlemen? And lady?" she winked at me. Twitching backwards, my eyes widened. Dean, suppressing his laughter, replied, "Beer for me." He realized that Castiel was not going to order. "Him too."

"What about you, little missy?" she cooed. I grimaced, my stomach tumbling violently, "Nothing for me."

"Be right back," she turned and flaunted her ass back to the bar. "Well that was unpleasant."

"I think she'd like to have some fun with you," Dean beamed at me with some suggestive eyebrow movements. Tossing him a glare, I replied sweetly, "Bite me."

"She'll do it for me," he smirked. The waitress reappeared seconds later with their drinks. Castile wouldn't touch his, but in mere moments half of Dean's had mysteriously disappeared. All the while, Cas's wide eyes scanned the room, his body still bouncing with anxiety.

"Relax, Castiel," I rubbed his arm. "It'll be fine."

"This is a den of iniquity. I should not be here," he leaned over the table, his voice low and shaky. Dean took another sip, "Dude, you full on rebelled against Heaven. Iniquity is one of the perks.…show time."

I followed his gaze to a tall, slender blonde slowly making her way toward us. Beside me, Castiel tensed. I gave his arm a light squeeze and watched her approach. "Hi…" she greeted our angel friend. "What's your name?"

Castiel's lips parted, his face paling slightly. I exchanged a fleeting look with Dean who rolled his eyes. "_Cas. _His name is Cas. What's your name?"

The busty woman smiled sweetly, "Chastity."

A concise laugh escaped my lips. "Chastity," Dean echoed. "Wow, is that kismet or what, buddy? Well you like him, and he likes you, so, have fun."

Chastity ran her hand down Castiel's shoulder resting in the crook of his elbow. In a soothing but sultry voice she encouraged him, "Come on, baby."

The angel's eyes were now full-on saucers and he looked like he was going to make a mad dash for the door at any second. Still, he stood much to my amazement and let himself be tugged along by the blonde woman in white. Suddenly, Dean stood too, "Oh hey."

Castiel stopped, his focus on Dean. Winchester retrieved a stack of twenties from his pocket, "Take this. If she asks for a credit card, no. Now just stick to the basics, okay, _do not order off the menu_. Go get her, Tiger."

Dean shot Cas a wink, holding the money out to him. Castiel hesitated. "Don't make me push you." With those words, Cas took the money and disappeared behind the curtain. Dean turned around and grinned at me. Motioning for me to stand, he spoke, "Come on, I'll buy you a beer."


	5. Chapter 5

**IMPORTANT: Though these last three chapters have been based a lot on the third episode, "Free to Be You and Me", once they wrap up the thing with Raphael, the story will be more original. I'm going to add in extra scenarios, hunts, and events, as well as take future episodes and add them in. I hope you guys like it and keep reading. Thanks.**

**Disclaimer: Yes, the clip further on is actually from John Winchester's journal. You can buy the journal online or in various book stores. **

"That was nice what you did for Cas."

"I owe him a lot," Dean shrugged. "But you knew that already."

We were sitting at the bar, sipping on beer while Castiel was hopefully having the time of his existence. Dean was making googly-eyes with a brunette at the other end of the bar. It was nice to see that even the apocalypse can't keep a man whore down. Pivoting, he faced me. "Okay, Lori. You know so much about me…tell me something about you."

"The long story? Or Reader's Digest version? Keep in mind, the long stories in Aramaic," I joked taking a light sip of the beer. The red-headed waitress was currently behind the bar shooting very inappropriate looks my way. Then again, to her, they were probably modest or flattering glances considering our location. Nearly gagging, I took another drink.

"How about we stick to Reader's Digest? For the time being, of course," Dean smiled, his eyes wandering the length of the bar, then returning to my frame. My black hair fell in front of my eyes, curling at the ends. Reaching up, I tucked the stray hairs away and pursed my lips, "Let's see. Uh. Dad wasn't around much when I was a kid. My mom got remarried right as I was finishing up my senior year of high school. And we sorta lost touch-"

"Didn't like the guy?"

"No, Scott's fine. We were just too different. We'd never been really close and after she started her new life, I figured I'd start mine. I got a job in South Carolina working as a investigative journalist," Dean smirked, picking up his beer. "An investigative journalist?"

I grinned at him, "Also, I'm a lifeguard during the summer. CPR certified."

"Duly noted. Now, I will definitely be taking you on jobs instead of Cas."

"Good to know my skills can be of use-" but I was cut off by a high pitched scream. Instantly, our eyes widened. Before you could say, "What the hell?" we were running back to the rooms, our beers abandoned at the bar. Dean tossed back the curtain and we slipped back. Down the long, pink hall of purple doors, people were sticking their heads out in curiosity. At the end, stood Castiel. Chastity was crying what seemed like angry tears, as she threw her shoes at him; all the while screaming, "Scream! I hate you, you bastard! Screw you jerk! Ugh, I'll kill you!"

Fuming, the busty blonde spun and marched down the hall. When she passed us, she glared and scream, "Screw you too! Uh!" Before huffing and puffing all the way back to the diva's room. I grunted in confusion, what could he have possibly done to piss her off that badly? She must have scum crawling over her all the time. No way was Cas worse than those dirt bags. Ignoring the suspicious glances of on-lookers, Dean asked, "What the hell did you do?"

The angel's clothes were ruffled; his tie was much looser and hanging astray. Much like his tie, Castiel's hair was sticking out in odd direction, messed together. I could imagine her gripping fists fulls of his hair, tugging at it affectionately. Befuddled, he spoke sincerely, "I don't know. I just looked at her in the eyes, and told her it wasn't her fault that her father Gene ran off. It was because he hated his job at the post office."

In reaction, my shoulders slumped in relief. Dean, however, shook his head, "Oh no, man! This whole industry runs on absent fathers. It's the natural order."

Dean chuckled at Castiel's expense. I was mid eye-roll when I noticed two very large, very muscle-y men dressed in all black who had entered the hall. They slowly started our way. Nudging Dean, I cocked my head in their direction, "Dean."

The Winchester followed my eyes and nodded, "We should go. Come on." Dean pushed Castiel down the long hall. We turned down another hall and down a series of stairs before finally finding an exit. It led to the back alley around the whorehouse and as we gradually made our way to the car, Dean's manly giggles filled the air. His chuckles were loud, obnoxious, and happy. Looking at Cas, the last ten minutes replayed in my mind and I laughed too.

"What's so funny?" the angel asked just as we made it to the Impala. Dean ran a hand over his chest as the last of his laughter died out. "Oh nothing…man, it's been a long time since I've laughed that hard. A really long time…" Dean paused at his door. "It's been years."

"Welcome to the world of virgin angels," I shot him a child-ish grin. He nodded, "This should be interesting."

We packed into the car and headed out. As the classic car pulled out onto the road, I leaned forward, crossing my arms on the seat between them, "So, come on, Castiel. Did you at least get to second base?"

"What do you mean?"

"You gotta keep in mind, Lori, he doesn't exactly speak our language," Dean spoke, turning the radio down a bit. The music, despite it's lack of volume, was still clearly heard. It was an old Nazareth song; Tush. I began to sing along softly as Dean explained what 'second base' was. Startled at the revelation, Castiel vigorously shook his head, "No. We did not."

"You basically you paid her two hundred bucks for a really good kiss?" Dean snorted.

"Must have been one hell of a spit-swapping session," I added. Castiel was now a deep crimson shade. Grinning, I poked Dean in the shoulder, "Scientific discover numero uno: angels can blush."

"You're really developing you're humility, Cas."

Back at the temporary safe house, Dean and Cas quickly prepared for the meeting with Raphael. Since there was a few hours of spare time, Dean sank down into one of the chairs and got some shut eye. While he slept, Castiel disappeared once more and I was left, bored, energized, and alone. John's journal was laying on the table in the same spot it was before. I snatched another beer from the cooler. My sudden drinking habit was startling; I hardly touched the stuff but this was my fourth one tonight. As I drank, I tried to convince myself not to do it. I even made a mental pro-and-con list. However, soon, my boredom consumed me and I found myself seated in front of the infamous journal, beer in hand.

I started on the first page:

_November 16, 1983. I went to Missouri today and I learned the truth. And from her, I met Fletcher Gable, who gave me this book and said "Write everything down." That's what Fletcher told me, like this new life is a school and I'll flunk out if I don't have good notes. Only, if I flunk out of this school, I'll be dead, and the boys will be orphans. So I'm going back to where this started._

_Two weeks ago, my wife was murdered. I watched her die, pinned to the ceiling of Sammy's room, blood dripping onto his cradle until she burst into flames-looking at me as she died. The week before that we were a normal family…eating dinner, going to Dean's T-ball games, buying toys for baby Sammy. But in an instant…it all changed…when I try to think back, get it straight in my head…I feel like I'm going crazy. Like someone ripped both my arms off, plucked my eyes out…I'm wandering around, alone and lost, and I can't do anything._

_Mary used to write books like this one. She said it helped her remember all the little things, about the boys, me…I wish I could read her journals, but like everything else, they're gone. Burned into nothing. She always wanted me to try writing things down. Maybe she was right, maybe it will help me to remember, to understand. Fletcher seems to think so. _

_Nothing makes sense anymore…my wife is gone, my sons are without their mother…the things I saw that night, I remember hearing Mary scream, and I ran, but then everything was calm--just for a second--Sammy was fine and I was sure I had been hearing things--too many horror movies too late at night. But then there was blood, and when I looked up, my wife…_

_Half our house is gone, even though the fire burned for only a few hours. Most of our clothes and photos are ruined, even our safe--the safe with Mary's old diaries, the passbooks for the boys' college accounts, what little jewelry we had…all gone. How could my house, my whole life, go up like that, so fast, so hot? How could my wife just burn up and disappear? _

_I want my wife back. Oh God, I want her back. _

_I thought at first that we would stay. Mike and Kate helped me take care of the boys at first, and Julie's been great too, but I tried to tell them--tell Mike--what I think happened that night. He just looked at me, this look…like he's sure I'm crazy. He must have told Kate something too. Out of nowhere she said the next morning, I should think about seeing a shrink. How can I talk to a stranger about this? I never saw a shrink for everything I went through in the Marines, and I got through that. My friends think I'm going insane. Who knows, maybe I am…_

_The police quit the case as soon as they couldn't pin it on me. They don't care that she was on the ceiling, they don't care about the blood on her stomach or about any of the things I've seen since then. They want a tidy answer. Doesn't matter to them whether it's the right one. The last time I talked to them, a week after she died, they asked me the same question the night of the fire. Where was I? How was my relationship with Mary weeks prior to the fire? Any problems with the boys? I can tell where they're going._

_Mary's uncle Jacob had a funeral for her in Illinois, where she was from. I didn't go. Why? There was nothing to bury and I don't think I could have listened to what anyone there would have said. I've been drinking too much, trailing off in the middle of sentences. I hear things at night while I sit in Sam and Dean's room. Everything lately feels like those instances when you remember a dream a few days after you had it, but then you can't remember if it was a dream or if it actually happened. I keep going over that night in my head…why did I ever get out of bed? I left my wife by herself to go watch TV and she died. I'm so sorry, Mary._

I had started to tear up half-way through the fourth paragraph but now I was crying. It wasn't the body shaking, chest wheezing, sobs but it was enough to make me reach up and brush them away as they spilled onto the tatter pages of the old journal. Sniffling, I continued:

_Dean still hardly talks. I try to make small talk, or ask him if he wants to throw the baseball around. Anything to make him feel like a normal kid again. He never budges from my side--or from his brother's. Every morning when I wake up, Dean's inside the crib, arms wrapped around baby Sam. Like he's trying to protect him from whatever is out there in the night. _

_Sammy cries a lot, wanting his mom. I don't know how to stop it, and part of me doesn't want to. It breaks my heart to think that soon he won't remember her at all. I can't let her memory die. _

_Woke up yesterday morning with a nasty hangover…wasn't in the mood to do much of anything, much less have a heart-to-heart with Mike, who jumped on me the second I walked into the kitchen. I guess that's his right, since it was his house. He was going on about how I have to get myself together, for the boys…but he seemed more concerned about the garage than anything else. Accusing me of phoning it in, you've barely been in to work…no kidding I've barely been in to work, my wife is dead, something horrible happened to her, maybe my boys are at risk too…how can I forget about all that and go to work, for God's sake?_

_Anyway, I told him he could have it. That stopped him cold. "You're telling me you're gonna give up your life's work over this?" Watch me, Mike. It's yours. _

_I walked out of the house with Mike's check in my hand. He wasn't so worried about me that he wouldn't let me go. Do I blame him? I don't know. I took the boys back to Julie's and went to the first check-cashing place I could find. Walked out with enough cash to fill the back of a car with security. Two 12-gauges; Winchester 1300 pump and a Stevens 311 side-by-side. Spread of side arms; good old Browning 9 mm, .44 Desert Eagle, snub Ruger SP101, and a little pocket .22. That'll do for a start. _

_Haven't written anything this long in my life. Hope I never do it again. _

_Went to see Missouri for the second time, and I can't explain it…it was like we'd been friends for years. She knew every detail, not just of my life, but also of me…my thoughts…my fears. She was the first person who didn't look at me like I was crazy when I told her my story…she just listened, and nodded, then she told me she believed me. _

_She also told me that if I wanted answers, I'd need to make a sacrifice. A blood sacrifice. So I pulled out one of my own fingernails, like I did that every day. She had a vision and we found a bloody mess at the neighbor's house along with the words WE'RE COMING FOR THE CHILDREN written in blood. I don't remember anything between that and finding Sam and Dean safe back at Julie's, thank God, but Julie…Julie was dead. Something just tore her apart. Missouri found a tooth in her body, I tried to draw it out but I can't draw. _

Subconsciously, my fingers ran over the pencil-etched drawing. The tooth was long, and sharp, with a sort of canine appeal. Based on John's description I'd bet anything that it was a Hellhound. But do Hellhounds just attack people? My tears were finally dried, my vision unbury. I wiped my face once more, my eyes drifting to Dean. It was a fleeting look because I wanted to read as much as I could before he woke up and flipped.

_I took the boys, said goodbye to Missouri, and got the hell out of Lawrence. If I never go back, it'll be too soon. _

_Not for Dean, though. The first thing he wanted to know was when we would go home. But we don't have a home anymore, Dean. The sooner you get used to that, the better. We don't have a home until we find that thing that killed your mother. _

_First stop, Eureka. Fletcher said we should start there. _

The entry ended abruptly. The next section was dated November 19th. It was short but I didn't seem like a good idea considering Dean was now stirring in his sleep. Shutting it back, I latched the strap, and sat. I finished the beer. My finger going numb from keeping it in my cold grasp. Though I've never been a big fan of John, I finally understand. I understand how it all started, how he willingly raised his sons in this kind of world, why he always acted the way he did…with one journal entry, it all made sense. Tears once again stung my eyes. _I try to make small talk, or ask him if he wants to throw the baseball around. Anything to make him feel like a normal kid again. _He had tried to make things work. But they wouldn't. The damage was done.

Castiel appeared suddenly. "It is time. We must get to St Pete's."

I nodded at him and stood, stretching my back. The angel went to wake the sleeping man, "Dean. Dean. Dean." Each time he raised his voice a little louder. I shot him a quick smile, "I'll get it, Cas." Walking over to Dean, I paused, my thoughts reflecting on John's journal. "Castiel, what happens after tonight? What am I suppose to do?"

"You will go on, with Dean, and find God."

"Are you sure you have to do this? You don't have to die."

"Nothing is ever certain. Now, hurry, we don't have much time."

Softly, I took Dean's shoulder, "Hey, Winchester, wake up." He gradually began to shift in the old, ratty chair. But to no avail did he wake. My fingers squeezed his shoulder and glided to his face; gently, I stroked his face. "Dean, wake up. We have to go."

The brunette man's eyes fluttered open with a sudden start. Chuckling at his surprised expression, I poked him, "Morning sunshine. It's go time."

Dean's face relaxed and his eyes swept over my body, locking on my eyes. He stared up at me expectantly. Cocking a brow, I snorted, "Well, get up. We gotta go."

"Castiel?" he called, ignoring me. Though he did stand. "Should she go?"

"She will not be harmed; the prophets are key in God's plan," the angel put Dean's nerves at ease. Quickly, we gathered everything, packed up, and left the rickety shack. The drive to St. Pete's was silent with anticipation and Castiel's pending doom. It was hard to believe I had only met the angel days ago and had really only been around him for about seventy-two hours. Studying the back of his head from my seat in the Impala, I stifled a mournful sigh. Castiel, the selfless, rebel, warrior angel, was about to die.


	6. Chapter 6

**Want to be in the story? **

**If so, read the following. Coming up, Dean and Lori are going to go on a hunt, only I can't pick what creature I want them to go after. There are so many options and I just can't choose. So here's the deal: **review with your character's name, a brief description IF YOU WANT (that's not mandatory), and the supernatural being of your choice. There are only three exceptions: no VAMPIRES, no SHAPESHIFTERS, and no DEMONS. I want something original that hasn't been on the show in a while. 

**It's quick, simple, and easy. EVERYONE who reviews with a name and creature will get put into the story. It may be a brief cameo but you will be in Ramble On. After so many people review, I'll pick one, or I might just pick the first one, and the hunt will begin. **

**Thanks to my beta, **coffeeandcigarettes**, for her lovely work on this chapter. **

"Am I the only one who sees a problem with doing this in the middle of a mental institution?!" I hissed as Dean shut the blinds to Donnie's room.

He glanced at me as Castiel removed the top of the vas and began to pour the golden oil on the floor in a ring around the cripple man. "Yep."

"Of cour-"

But, Cas cut me off, "When the oil burns, no angel can pass through the flames or he dies."

"Right down to business I see," I muttered to myself. Tucking my arms in my pockets, I stood back and let the two men work. Dean crossed his arms over his chest as the angel finished pouring. "Okay so we trap him in a steel cage of holy fire but one question: how do we get him here?"

"There is…well, an almost open phone line between an angel and his vessel. One just has to know how to dial," he spoke as he leaned down to Donnie. "_Ra, ahga, ey ol. Eu. Vie nue null. No kia osta petay. Oh ama la day. Zode_. I am here, Raphael. Come and get me you bastard."

Castiel's sort of growled the last bit causing Dean and I to pass knowing looks. Eyes still locked on me, he asked, "Just out of curiosity, what's the average customer wait time to speak to an archangel?"

Cas pulled out a small brown match set from the front pocket of his long coat. Breaking one off, he struck it, and watched it drop. The flames instantly picked up; a small ring of fire encased the mental patient. "Be ready."

My breath caught and I braced myself. I braced. I braced. I braced. But, nothing happen. Dean's eyes swept the room multiple times. Finally, he snorted, "Did you do it right?"

"Yes," Cas bit. His brow furrowed. "I don't understand."

"Maybe he just won't come. He probably knows it's a trap," I offered. They both agreed, much to my amazement, and we headed out; after putting out the fire, of course. Just as the Impala turned onto the drive, Dean broke the silence, "Well that was a waste."

Castiel and I ignored his pessimistic tone. I personally felt relieved; at least the angel was still alive. As we entered the dark house, Castiel suddenly stopped. I collided with his back as he reached out and held Dean back. "Dean, wait." There, standing in the middle of the living room, was none other than Raphael himself. The archangel's head was tilted down, large electrical sparks rising from his body. They shot all around the room knocking out what little lighting was on. The blue streaks seemed to shape wings on his back. And then, just like that, they were gone. Slowly, his head rose. "Castiel."

"Raphael."

The bodyguards of men stepped forward. Dean scoffed, "Man, I thought you were suppose to be impressive, all you do is black out the room?"

A sudden roar of thunder and crack of lightning sounded outside. My eyes scaled the windows. Rain began to pour, pounding against the ancient house like golf balls on the green. Raphael's voice boomed, "It is a testament to my unending mercy that I don't smite you here and now."

"Or maybe you're full of crap. Maybe you're afraid God will bring Cas back to life again and smite you in your candy-ass skirt. By the way, hi, I'm Dean."

"I know who you are, who you _both_ are. And now thanks to him," the archangel motioned Castiel. "I know _where_ you are."

"You won't kill him," Castiel declared, a slight edge in his tone. "You wouldn't dare."

Fear spiked my body. Castiel was right, right? No way would Raphael kill Dean. Thankfully, it seemed our angel friend was right. "No, but I will take him to Michael."

"Well that sounds terrifying. It does. But I hate to tell ya," Dean mocked as he waltzed over to the cooler. Popping the lid open, he snatched up a beer. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

Dean twisted off the cap. He was facing me; our eyes met. I was scared and he could tell. The tall brunette took a swig, Raphael snapped, "Surely you remember Zachariah giving you stomach cancer?"

Winchester tensed, pulling the bottle away from his lips. My eyes widened, my jaw clenched tight. Dean's tremor was quickly replaced by sarcasm, "Yes. Yeah, that was hilarious."

"Yes well, he doesn't have anywhere near my imagination."

"Oh yeah? I bet you didn't imagine one thing."

Raphael sent a glare our way, taking a daring step forward. "What?"

Dean smirked. "We knew you were coming you stupid son of a bitch."

Raphael looked down just in time to notice the ring of Castiel's Jerusalem oil as Dean struck the match and lit the fire. As Dean said, we'd anticipated him popping in and had set up the circle prior to our second trip to St. Pete's. Suddenly, the thunder grew louder. The rain came faster, harder. The flames raged, flickering up and slapping Raphael in the face. The angel looked outrage - downright furious. His powerful glare landed on Dean.

"Don't look at me, it was his idea."

Castiel and I narrowed our stares in disbelief; Dean gave a half shrug. The urge to smack him in the arm was great. My left hand even twitched in his direction. However, the timing didn't seem…appropriate. Castiel's voice was strong, "Where is he?"

"God?" Raphael asked behind the massive curtain of fire. "Didn't you hear? He's dead, Castiel." At those words, our trio stiffened. Dean shot Cas a panicked look. God couldn't be dead. How the hell do you kill God? You don't kill God. You can't. But the arch-ninja seemed to disagree. "Dead. There's no other explanation. He's gone."

"No," I snapped, my voice wavering in fear. For the first time sense our arrival, Raphael's eyes fell on me. I clenched my jaw. He repeated me mockingly. "That's right, no. You can't kill God."

"Have you any other explanation, Lorene? Perhaps you've seen him in your dreams," he ridiculed.

Cas stepped up to my defense. "You're lying."

"Am I? Do you remember the twentieth century? Do you think the twenty-first is going to be any better? Do you think he'd have let that happen if he'd been around? Face it, he's gone."

"Yeah," Dean mumbled. "Well then who invited the Chinese Basket trick?"

"Careful, boy, that's my father you're talking about."

"Yeah, who would be so proud to know that his sons started the freaking apocalypse!" the Winchester growled. He took a staggering step towards the flaming circle cage. Instinctively, my arm shot out, gripping his bicep, and pulled him back. Startled, he glanced at me. I shook my head, mouthing 'relax'. His angry expression dissolved replaced by his calm, classic demeanor.

"Our father. Who left, who disappeared, who left no instructions, and a world to rot."

Though his eyes were still on me, Dean spoke, "So daddy ran away and disappeared. He didn't happen to work for the post office, did he?"

"This is funny to you? You're living in a God-less universe," Raphael demanded.

Dean finally looked toward the archangel. "And what? You and the other kids decided to throw an apocalypse while he's gone?"

"We're tired. We just want it to be over. We just want…paradise." He looked to Castiel. Cas's face was conflicted. He looked hurt, confused, angry…he looked broken.

My lips moved to speak, but Dean cut me off, "So what? God dies and that makes you the boss and you think you can just do whatever you want?" Dean waved his arms, gesturing the storm surrounding us. When he did so, my arm fell from his.

Sardonically, Raphael snarled, "Yes. And whatever we want, _we get_."

The storm seemed to peak then. The thunder drowned out all other noise, and the lightning lit up the dark night. Then, abruptly, the windows shattered. Swiftly, Dean clutched me to his side, squishing my arm between our bodies. Castiel pushed our backs down, his hands covering us. Little glass shards went flying about the room. Rain from the outside world was now entering the house wiping around the room from the hurricane style winds. Panicked, I looked to my protectors.

"If God is dead, why am I here? Who brought me back?" Castiel screamed over the deafening weather.

Raphael offered, "Did it ever occur to you that maybe Lucifer raised you?"

"No." The angel's eyes clouded over.

"Think about it; he needs all the rebellious angels he can find. You know it adds up."

"Let's go," Castiel decided impulsively.

Dean's arms still around me, we turned but Raphael spoke once more, "Castiel. I am warning you. Do not leave me here. I will find you."

"Maybe one day but today," Cas shot the trapped Raphael a sneer. "You're my little bitch."

In spite of our current situation, my mouth broke out in huge grin. As Dean and I followed him out of the house and into the maddening storm, Dean nodded. "What he said."

Once on the porch, we ran to the car. We were out of the driveway and nearly out of town within ten minutes. Driving south toward North Sidney, we were ten miles outside of Waterville when Dean suddenly slammed his hand against the steering wheel. "Damn!"

"What?" I sat up, alarmed.

"I left the cooler!"

Disappointed, I settled back down and silence lapsed once more. The weather had calmed once we were outside the city. I wondered how long it would take Raphael to figure out a way out of the angel-proof ring of fire. Soon, the dampness from my clothes caused me to quiver. A shaky breath escaped my lips. Dean glanced at me, his eyes drifting to Cas as he flicked on the Impala's heater. "Can you feel it?"

I paused; then the warm air drifted over me. Nodding, I smiled softly. "Thanks."

He tossed me a half smile. Then spoke to the angel beside him in the front seat, "You okay? I mean, I'll be the first to tell you that this little crusade of yours is nuts, but I do know a little something about missing fathers."

"What do you mean?"

Dean shifted in the seat. His eyes remained on the road, occasionally slipping onto me. I peered out the window hoping he would continue. Eventually, he did, "I mean there were times when my dad was missing; when all logic said that he was dead. But I knew…"

Dean stalled a bit. His voice was laced with regret and sadness. "I knew…in my heart that he was still alive. So who cares what some ninja turtle says, Cas? What do you believe?"

"I believe he's out there," the angel declared.

"Good. Then go find him. I'll take care of the half-pint in the back," Dean cocked his head backwards.

"Hey," I murmured, smiling.

"What about you?"

"What about me?" he echoed. "Honestly? I don't know ... I'm good. I can't believe I'm saying that, but I'm good. I'm really good."

"Even without your brother?"

"Especially without my brother," Dean snorted. "I mean, I spend so much time worrying about the little son of a bitch and I've had more fun with you two in the last twenty-four hours than I've had with Sam in years." Dean shot the angel a smirk. "And you're not that much fun, Cas. I've been so chained to my family, but now that I'm alone, hell, I'm happy."

I peered at the back of his head, a small, sort of mournful smile on my face. Then, suddenly, my peripheral vision opened up. Castiel was gone. "Why does he always do that? Is a simple 'goodbye' too much for his Holy ass to muster?"

Dean shook his head, realizing that his friend was gone. "Hell if I know," he pursed his lips, pulling the Impala to the shoulder of the road. My brow furrowed, this is the part where he kicks me out. "Come on."

"What?"

The eldest Winchester pivoted, facing me. "Are you gonna sit back there all night? Get up front."

"Oh," I mumbled. Duh. "Okay."

Slipping out of the car, I joined him in the front seat. It pulled back on the road. "Where to?"

"Get out the map." He pointed to the glove compartment. I pulled out the thick, paper map. Unfolding it, I found it was a rather large map of the US - very detailed too. I flipped and flipped until I found Maine. Dean glanced on the large side. His finger trailed down 104, tapping when he got to Augusta, Maine. "There's an airport there. The place will be crawling with motels. I figure we'll stay the night. Start fresh tomorrow."

I nodded. "Okay." The comfortable silence didn't last long as Dean's nerves soon got the best of him. He put in an old Billy Squire tape. 'The Stroke' filled the car as the sweet guitar riffs sang out through the speakers. Together, we sang along. Dean shot me an impressed smile and when the song ended he said, "Nice taste."

"Right back at cha." Biting my lip, the song changed and I shifted so that I could face him better. "Hey, Dean."

"Hmm?" he glanced at me.

"I just wanted to say thank you. For, you know, letting me tag along. I know this isn't your style-"

"Hey, don't mention it." He grinned at me. "You seem like the kinda girl who handles these sort of things well, which is surprising for someone who's never hunted before."

Though he was being nice, I couldn't help but catch the suspicion and withdrawal in his tone. Dean was always a skeptic; then again, if you had his life, wouldn't you be skeptical too? Struggling for words, I finally spat out, "I've dreamt of everything from vengeful spirits to voodoo priests for the last three years. Everything you've ever fought, anything you've ever killed - I know about it. Hell, I could write the demon text book. Sure, I just found out that it was real but those demons made it kind of hard to ignore. It was difficult to pretend it wasn't reality while being choked to death by air. I felt like Darth Vader was trying to kill me."

"What exactly happened with the demons?"

"I was at a baseball game one night. A few of them showed up. Next thing I know I'm in the middle of a warehouse, being held down by a giant oaf of a man, getting punched to death. They wanted to know where you and Sam were."

"Thanks for that."

"Hey, don't mention it." I smiled, repeating his words from just moments ago. A month back, if you'd told me that I would be driving down the road in the Impala, at nearly three in the morning, with Dean Winchester at my side, I would have called you a lunatic and told you to lay off the booze. But, that's how it was, that's how things played out. Silently, I listened as he sang along to Ram Jam's 'Black Betty'. His voice was sultry, deep and beautiful. It made me grin. I leaned into the leather, black seat and sighed contently. Now if only the apocalypse wasn't around the corner.


	7. Chapter 7

**Mucho gracias to everyone who has reviewed. It's all greatly appreciated. **

**Credit to **coffeeandcigarettes** for beta'ing. Thanks Courtney. **

Once in Augusta, Dean had given me some cash and dropped me off at a Target upon realizing that I had nothing. Literally. I tried to keep it simple: a few pairs of jeans, some pajama bottoms, a few tank tops, plain-Jane tee shirts in variations of blacks, grays, and browns, two bras; both with matching bottoms, socks, some extra briefs, three long-sleeved shirts, a few skirts, a pair of boots, a pair of heels, and two pairs of converse-type tennis shoes, one black jacket, and two nice tops. Then, I had to get personal items: a toothbrush, a band of hair ties, face wash, a few pieces of jewelry, deodorant, a pair of sunglass, a razor, tampons, the simple make-up things; lip stick, chap stick, powder, and blush, and a large, duffle-material backpack to keep it all in. Though that might seem like a lot, most of it is necessity. As far as the skirts, heels, and jewelry go, I figure Dean and I will be hunting, which means false personas that could range from FBI to Health Inspectors to Teddy Bear Doctors.

I'd avoided the pricier items and tried to buy scarce. Thinking back, I tried to see if I'd missed anything. Finding nothing, I went to check out. Dean got back to Target right as I'd finished loading all my supplies onto the cashier's belt. He met me at the register. "Dear God. Women."

"I need _all_ of this. This isn't half of my clothes at home. Hell, this isn't a seventeenth of what I have."

"Yeah, cause women buy like they need six of everything."

"Sexist."

"Are you saying that's not true?"

"Yes," I quipped. The man behind the register snorted a quiet laugh. I blushed a bit, crossing my arms over my chest. "Did you get the room?"

Dean nodded. "And food. Hope you like Chinese."

"Oh, definitely." I smiled at him.

It was around seven in the morning when we arrived in town, so naturally, the cashier asked, "Chinese for breakfast?"

"What can I say; girl's got an appetite." Dean tossed him a smirk. I scoffed but said nothing.

The boy nodded. "My girlfriend's the same way. It always amazes me how she can eat so much but stay so small."

"Must be a chick thing."

"It's not a _chick _thing." I rolled my eyes. "She probably works out. I know I have to. Twenty laps every morning and every night at the pool."

"Nah, I don't think so. Physical labor isn't her forté."

"Sucks for you," Dean mumbled.

"Sorry?" the cashier asked as he finished scanning the last of my jewelry.

Hastily, Dean shook his head. "Nothing."

"You're total's rounding up to three-hundred twenty-two dollars and thirty-seven cents," he announced as I took the rest of my bags and placed them in the buggy. Though it seemed like a lot, I knew it could have been much higher.

Dean seemed to disagree. "Jesus Christ, Lori. Did you buy the whole damn store?"

"Nope. I left them the grocery department." I retrieved the cash from my back pocket.

Dean held up his hand and shook his head. "You don't have enough." Winchester withdrew his wallet, handing over a MasterCard. Without objection, the Target employee scanned it.

"Here you are, Mr. Hagar."

"Thanks, Dean," I mumbled.

The cashier raised his eyebrow. "Dean?"

"Middle name," I quickly explained, panic rushing through me in an instant.

Dean nodded. "She says my first name sounds like a bad Tim Burton character."

"Oh." He ripped out the recite, handing it over. "Well have a nice day. And thank you for shopping at Target."

"Yeah, no problem, buddy." Dean tossed the recite in a nearby trash can before standing back so I could guide the buggy towards the doors. "Get everything?"

"I think so. Thanks again."

"Thank Dean Hagar." He winked.

The motel was one of the nicer ones surrounding the airport. Though it was nothing compared to the hotel Castiel had placed me in, the brothers had stayed in far worse places. Dean had flicked on the television; some rerun of a cop drama was on. Though he channel surfed for a minute or two, there weren't many options at this hour. Whilst we ate, I went through and took off all the tags and stickers from my clothes. What I didn't need that night, I tossed in the back pack.

Excusing myself, I headed to the bathroom. I peeled the nasty, disgusting, unwashed scrapes of clothing from my body and hurriedly rinsed down with a motel wash cloth. Though I wanted a shower, this would have to do for now because I was too sleepy for a full fledge shower. Slipping on my new clothes, I grinned at my reflection - new, fresh, clean clothing. Finally. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and pulled up my hair.

Returning to the room, I grabbed one of the empty Target bags and threw my old clothes into the bag. I tied it and tossed them in the waste bin in the corner of the room. Dean shot me a raised brow look. I shrugged. "Just another chick thing."

"Okay…" he spoke from his bed. He'd finished eating and was now in nothing more than boxers and a tee shirt - one that hugged his biceps nicely, might I add. Tearing my gaze away from his man-muscles, I sat at the small table nibbling on remains of my fried rice and sweet and sour chicken. When I'd had my fill, I cleaned off the table and climbed into my own bed. I drew my knees to my chest and relaxed against the wall.

We watched TV in silence for almost two hours, only speaking when we felt the need to comment on the show or commercials. It wasn't awkward in the least bit. In a way, it felt normal. Not the fact that it was us, but it seemed normal in the simplicity of the actions. Just two people sitting around watching TV. I was slightly unnerved by how easily Dean and I just accepted that we were now paired off together. I understand, a little, why it's easy for me but, still. Perhaps Dean isn't as unaffected by the new circumstances as he appears. I hope that's not the case.

Sometime around nine-forty that morning, I'd laid down and drifted off to sleep. In my dream world, Sam was there. He was eating dinner with the blonde woman, Lindsey. She pulled out a chip from her pocket, holding it up, she muttered, "Three years sober."

The chip was purple, and sort of like a guitar pick. They give them out at AA meetings when alcoholics reached their sobriety goals. Sam sputtered on a bite of food, "But you work in a bar!"

"So do you." Lindsey giggled. Then dream abruptly ended there. The rest of my slumber was filled with only clips and images of Sam. He slept. He was visited by other hunters. He worked. He played darts. Though the visions were sketchy, it relieved my body and mind for a short time; the more vivid the dreams, the less rest I get.

Apparently, I wasn't the only one tired. When I woke that afternoon at five forty-two, Dean was snoozing peacefully, sprawled on his bed. I smiled softly at his sleeping figure. Walking over to my bag, I fetched my things and slipped into the bathroom. It felt nice to shower - to cleanse my body. I washed my hair, scrubbed down, and just stood feeling the lukewarm water rush over me. A nice cool shower was a great way to wake up. Once I dressed and exited the restroom, Dean was slowly starting to rise.

"Afternoon," I announced my presence.

"How long have I been out?" He asked, his voice gruff with sleep.

My eyes traveled to the alarm clock sitting nicely on the table between our beds. It was just after six. "Roughly nine hours. Give or take twenty minutes."

"Damn," he grumbled. Dean wiped a hand over his face then sat up. "Alright, get dressed then. We gotta get a move on."

"Already?" I murmured tossing my shower necessities in the backpack.

Dean stood and started to move about the shabby motel room. "Yep. We've got to hit a few spots in town before moving out."

"Where're we going now?"

"I did some calling around this morning after you conked out. A buddy of mine in Portland thinks he's got a job for us."

"Oh yeah? What?"

"Didn't say." Dean shrugged peeling off his shirt. I blushed feverishly, spinning away from him as I dug shoes out of my bag. Opening the socks, I slipped some on before pulling on my thick, black boots. When I glanced up again, Dean was fully clothed, tugging on his jacket. "You wanna get breakfast?"

"Sure." I nodded. Ten minutes later, we were checking out and loading up. We ate breakfast, which was really dinner, at a small kitchenette-like place called Anne's. Afterwards, Dean refused to tell me where we were going. Nearly fifteen miles later, we pulled up to a strip of shops.

He shut off the Impala, and faced me. "How afraid of needles are you?"

"What does that ha-" but then I realized the shop in front of us was a tattoo parlor; Area 54 Tattoos. "What the hell are we doing here?"

Dean smirked, lifting down his shirt to reveal the black inked tattoo on his chest just above his left peck. The tattoo was a pentagram entrapped in a circle of flames, much like the one we used only yesterday to trap Raphael. My eyes widened, and then narrowed. Winchester only continued to smirk, "If you're going to be riding with me, you're not going to be getting possessed every ten seconds. We gotta get you protected."

"Oh, come on," I groaned. Together we went inside and Dean asked for an artist. They sent us over to a bald man with more piercing on his faces than skin. His name was Pit, or Puc, or Pink; something like that. Dean showed him his tattoo and asked if he could give me the same one. P nodded. "Where do you want it?"

"Oh, um, I hadn't thought of that." I looked at Dean. "Where should I get it?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Okay." My mind was fumbling. I couldn't think of anywhere to put it. It would be too big for my wrist, weird on my neck, ankle tattoos are gross. Finally, I heaved a sigh. "I don't care. Just wherever."

"I can't pick for you," P stated.

"Dean."

"Don't get it on your hips. Those are trashy. Don't get it on your lower back - also trashy. It would look weird on your chest so…" his fingers trailed up my back, then stopped and tapped my left shoulder blade. "Get it there."

"Alright," the bald man nodded. He motioned for the spiny chair in front of his that resemble the chairs at the hair salon. "I want you to sit facing him, put your legs on either side of the cushions, rest your upper half on the plate, and don't move."

Doing so, I watched Dean slide a chair over and sit down. I glared at him as the tattoo artist lifted my shirt. He began to pencil draw it on before applying some sort of wax paper. He kept asking me various questions: have you ever gotten a tattoo? Why get one now? Why this one? During the entire interrogation I was curt, bracing the pain that was soon to come. "I hate you. I'm not good with needles. Or blood. This has both."

"We'll I'm telling you now," Dean leaned forward whispering. "You're gonna have to get over the fear of blood. In our line of work we can't afford to be squeamish." Then, he glanced at his watch and told me he needed to run the other errands before it got too late. I pitched a sort of mild fit in response. I couldn't believe he was going to force me to get a tattoo and then leave me alone to withstand the pain. He told me I was being dramatic, handed me the cash from last night, and said he'd be back.

"So you're boyfriend's making you get it?" P asked as he rubbed some kind of gel over the pencil sketch on my skin. I was glad he couldn't see my crimson face. "He isn't my boyfriend?"

"Brother?"

"Not quite. We're…uh," but what were we? Friends? I suppose. Business partners? It seemed that way. But it was something more than that. Something unexplainable. "We're friends who work together."

"Hmm. What do you do?"

Shit. Nice one, Lori. "We're traveling salesmen for a non-profit time share company." What the hell is that? That, ladies and gentleman, is the worst line on a dime, ever.

"Sounds boring. You two don't seem the type. Okay, I'm about to start. I need you to be very still, alright?" I nodded, and tensed when the low buzzing of the ink gun started. Contrary to popular belief, the act of getting a tattoo is not that painful. It felt like someone was dragging nails across my skin. Though it slightly burned and stung, I was expecting downright pain - blood curdling, eye gouging pain. P would stop every so often to wipe blood off my skin, and occasionally refill the tattoo gun with black ink. When he was finished, he gave me this speech about not getting it infected, how to look for the signs of infection, and how to properly clean it. Since the tattoo was small and the ink was black, it only cost sixty dollars. I paid at the front of the parlor and took one of their complementary business cards.

I had just begun to wonder were Dean was when the familiar purr of the Impala's engine flooded my ears. The black beauty pulled into view, parking just in front of the shop. Dean exited the car, squinting from the now setting sun. The tattooed, pierced, slightly trampy woman behind the counter hummed, "Your boy toy's got a nice ride."

"He's not-" but I cut myself off as he entered.

"You get it?"

"Unfortunately." I pushed down the material of my shirt, the white bandages showing.

Dean grinned. "Good. Step one complete."

"What's step two?"

Dean jerked his head back. "In the car. Did you pay?"

"No, I thought it was free because yes, I am completely incompetent," I joked. Dean mimicked my smartass remark before threatening to smack me in the shoulder and beckoning me to the car. In the front seat of the Impala sat two bags - one from a cellular store, the other, a simple brown paper bag. My brow furrowed. "Did you buy some weed or something?"

"Yes ma'am. Got some crack too." He grinned as we headed down the road, beginning our trip to Portland. I pushed back the plastic and took out the cardboard box with a picture of a flip phone on the front. "I got you a phone. It's registered for a Kelsey Sandefur. You'll need to transfer some of my contacts into it; uh, Castiel…my number…Bobby…Sam, maybe Ellen and Jo. Oh, and get Rufus's number too. Doubt he'll be of much help if you ever need him but, better safe than sorry. I figure you'll need a phone if we ever get split on a job or if something happens to me."

"Thank you," I spoke softly. I threw all the bits of plastic, peanut packing material, and tape into the bag and took out the phone and charger. Turning it on, I looked over at Dean. "Really, thank you. For everything."

"Don't thank me yet, there's more." He handed me the paper bag. We turned onto the interstate, passing a rather ugly Buick. I winced at the sight of it; people have horrible taste. Taking the bag, I tore my eyes away from the hideous car and reached inside. I pulled out four plastic identification tags and six badges. One FBI badge, one Homeland Security badge, one District Attorney's ID, one Federal Marshal badge, one CDC - Center for Disease Control - badge, one US Marshal badge, one Detective badge, and three fake IDs. I flipped through one by one, reading the names aloud. Grinning, I spoke, "This is ridiculous. Homeland Security? US Marshal? I feel so empowered."

"Check in the glove box. Get those envelopes," Dean grinned. Withdrawing the white envelopes, I noted the odd names. Lisa Ford. Joanne Sax. Angelina West. I opened the envelopes to find three credit cards; MasterCard, Visa, and Wachovia. "I ordered those two days ago. Just picked them up from the post office. Now, we usually keep IDs for a while but with credit card scamming we have to apply for new ones about every three months. So keep track."

"Will do." Of course, the only thing I hadn't bought at Target was a purse, so for now, I rolled all the IDs, badges, and credit cards into the paper bag, stowing them away in the floorboard with the charger. "Where's your phone?"

Winchester received his small, gray flip phone from his jacket pocket, and handed it over. As I reclined in the seat adding many of his contacts to my new phone, I was amazed at how many stray numbers were in there. I mean, I knew Dean had a bit of a sexual history and a flirtation problem, but this was just sad. There must be at least a hundred and twenty random numbers listed under women's names. Shaking my head, I transferred the contacts.

Dean had put in a Motorhead cassette; the loud bass chords were thudding in the speakers. I nodded my head along, passing him back his phone. My fingers drummed along on my thigh. I watched the passing road signs as we drove. The interstate wasn't packed for nine at night but it wasn't empty either. We'd see the average cars, trucks, the occasional semi or motorcycle. At one point, Dean cut off mid Angus Young guitar riff in 'Back in Black' to look at an ice cream truck driving in the opposite direction. "Pedophiles. Never trust men in ice cream trucks."

We drove through the night; I slept for a few hours, waking to find Dean singing along to Warrant's Cherry Pie. I grinned up at him from my slouched position in the seat. Sitting up, I asked, "Where are we?"

"About twenty minutes outside of Portland," he replied. Looking around, I noticed we were no longer on the interstate but driving through back roads. Trees lined either side of the road and there were no other cars insight.

Using the side mirror of the car as a guide, I brushed through my frazzled hair with my fingers. "Dean, it's not healthy for you to stay awake so much. You should at least nap when we get to Portland."

"Sweetheart, I only require five hours of sleep every three days. If I got nine today I should last a week." Dean smiled. Rolling my eyes, I couldn't help but smile back. It wasn't my fault, though; the Dean Winchester grin is infectious. The rest of the ride I was trying to shake off the last remaining bits of sleep. Just as I had fully brought my senses to life, Dean pulled off the back road, down a long dirt path. At the end of the path was a clearing of trees that revealed a large, two story white house. He pulled up next to a cop car, shut off the engine, and declared, "We're here."


	8. Chapter 8

**The hunt begins now. Major, major thanks to **Revanatio** for the hunt pick. As for **Rogue** and **maron771121**, both of your ideas were great, thank you both, but Rev's sparked in my mind and it just flowed easier. As previously promised, all three of you will be in these chapters as the following: Kai Creo-**Revanatio**; Rain Hurts-**Rouge**; and Callisto Jenkins-**maron771121**. **

**I hope you guys like it. Enjoy. The next chapter will be much longer, FYI.**

I climbed out of the Impala, following Dean. The minute we pulled up, the front door of the house opened and out walked a surely man with deep, chocolate, curly brown hair. He was decked out in full uniform, equip with gun and all. "Dean," he declared, a sort of awkward grin on his face. "How you been, boy?"

"I'm alright. Dakota, this is Lori. Lori, this is Dakota Jenkins, he's a friend of Bobby's," Dean explained as he shook Dakota's hand. Dakota gave a curt nod my way, "Hello there. You must be a hunter too."

"I'm not quite there yet but I'm working on it," I took his extended hand in a grip. He nodded, "Well you're with the right man to help you with that. Dean here saved all our asses."

Receiving my questioning glance, Dean mumbled, "A succubus a couple a years back."

"Ah."

"Yeah. Well. Come on in. Callisto's making pancakes if you're hungry," Dakota led us into his home. Immediately upon entered the house, the smell of syrup entered my nose. My stomach rumbled in response, "Who's Callisto?"

"My daughter." We followed Dakota into the kitchen where a tall girl with stringy brown hair was hovering over a stove top, flipping pancakes. Every spare space of counter top was covered with powdered sugar, strawberries, blueberries, syrups, and pancake batter. She glanced over at us but otherwise pretended like we weren't there. Dean pulled a chair out from the table, taking a seat, "What've you got for us?"

"Two locals, Logan Greene and Carter Wilmot, died this passed week. Both men were found in their homes, cut up like they'd been hacked to death. Odd thing is, there was no evidence of the murder. No prints, hairs, fibers, nothing. It was a spotless crime scene-"

"I told you, dad, it's probably just some wack-job serial killer with extreme OCD," Callisto spoke, shuffling about the kitchen. Dakota snorted at his daughter, "That's what we thought at first. But when I went back and reviewed the file, the autopsy reports stated that both victims didn't die from blood loss."

"Then how'd they die?" I question, cocking a brow.

"They both drown in their own blood."

"That is disgusting," I gasped, cringing at the strikingly vivid mental image that popped into my mind. A man, laying, his body mangled and torn apart. Blood dripping from his mouth, his chin, teeth, and lips covered in the thick, crimson liquid. As I said, the picture was…vivid.

"Oh that is definitely not normal," Dean mumbled. Callisto had apparently finished cooking whilst I had my repulsive daydream, because she was piling food onto various plates and slamming them down on the table. Dakota took a seat across from Dean and motioned for me to sit. Doing so, I listened as he spoke, "Yep. And in both cases, all doors and windows were locked from the inside. I thought it sounded like your kinda work."

"Who found them?"

"Logan's girlfriend found him in his office slumped over the desk. Carter's son found him on the couch when he got home from school."

"He was freaked," Callisto mumbled placing a plate in front of me. Thanking her, I asked, "You know him?"

"I go to school with Travis. He was completely freaked all week."

"How so?" Dean focused his gaze on the young girl.

"He found his uncle dead in their house. What do you mean how so? He thinks something's after him," Callisto snapped. She dropped down in the chair across from mine and proceeded to take a bite of pancakes. Dean shifted, "He thinks something's after him? Why?"

"Travis goes home, finds his uncle slaughtered in the living room, all doors locked. He thinks whoever did it knew how to weasel in without leaving a trace and get out with no one seeing. Like I said, he's freaked."

"It's understandable," I mumbled hesitant to eat. Callisto wasn't exactly radiating hospitality but Dean and Dakota seemed un-phased. Together, the trio started eating, still chit-chatting about the attacks. I leaned back in my chair and began to think. The pattern sounded familiar. Which was alarming. I thought back to previous hunts the Winchesters' had been on. As I did so, I glared at the stack of pancakes before me. Food didn't seem like a good idea at the moment. Apparently, Callisto noticed, "Is there something wrong with the food?"

"What? Oh, sorry no. I was just thinking. Dakota, where any organs missing?"

"Organs?" the scruffy, mountain-man asked. I nodded, "Organs. From the victims."

"You mean the heart," Dean spoke. "You think it's a deva?"

"Could be," I shrugged. But Dakota shook his head 'no', "All the organs were intact, heart and all."

"So that's a no on the deva," I muttered, slightly disappointed.

"Not necessarily. We've only worked with devas once. I don't know that much about them. They might not always take the heart-" Dean counter; I cut him short, "You're right. Because Meg was controlling them. She made them go after the hearts so she could use them in her rituals to contact Azazel."

Dean glanced at Dakota, "Did these two have any common enemies you might know about? Maybe a common ex-girlfriend or a pissed off business partner?"

"Greene and Wilmot lived on opposite sides of town; and Portland's a big town. As far as I know they've never even met. Sorry I can't be of more help," Jennings frowned. He stood from the table taking his empty plate to the sink. Callisto peered after her father. She seemed to lose her appetite then, stood, and began to clear the table. "Are you going to eat?" she snapped hovering over me. I shook my head, "No, thank you."

Callisto scoffed and snatched up my plate. I flinched in response causing a quiet chuckle to rise from Dean. I shot him a glare. My brunette traveling partner simply smirked and looked passed me, "Dakota, can you get us the case files for both murders?"

"Sure thing."

"And we'll need the autopsy reports. Plus any criminal records on either."

"Can do."

"Thanks, Dakota," Dean stood. With a few more words and a quick 'see ya later', Dean and I were packing into the Impala. "We'll get a room then meet Dakota at the library."

"Ooh, research time. This is the fun part right?" I quipped sarcastically.

"Damn straight." Dean and I drove across Portland, down the main highway, to the nearest hotel. A Motel 6 in West End Portland. I followed Dean inside, the bell chiming as we entered. "I'm a little sketchy. Remind me what deva's do again?" Dean mumbled as we waited at the desk of the empty lobby. I snorted, rolling my eyes at him, "You were there, Dean."

"Yeah but that was…God, six years ago? Probably more. Your dreams started three years ago. They're fresher," he reasoned, shrugging. Impatiently, he leaned over the counter glancing around for a bell hop. He dinged the bell and called, "Hello?! Anybody home?!"

"Deva…they're controlled by alters. It's dark, old magic. They aren't just shadows, they're invisible and the only thing you can see _is _their shadow-" I began, my hands involuntarily moving as I spoke. Dean nodded along, "Right. Right. But how do we stop them? I mean, we destroyed that bitch's alter but they showed up again."

"Maybe because Meg didn't die like you thought?" I offered. "She still lives, she recreates the alter, and sends them after your family…how in the hell are we going to track whoever is controlling them down?"

"No idea," the eldest Winchester replied, but fell short as a small, mousy man emerged from the back. "Hi there. We need a room."

"Alrighty," the balding man grinned. "One room, coming right up." His cheery tone caused Dean to wince and give a mocking, twitchy smile in return. The motel employee was too busy twittering around with his paperwork to notice, thankfully. He whizzed around, picking up papers, jotting things down before he halted in front of the small desk-top computer. Typing slowly, he grinned, "Here we are. One king. You're total comes to-"

"Oh, uh," Dean stammered, a small blush rising in his cheeks. "No, we, uh, we need two queens."

"Oh, sorry," the man shook his head, frowning. "We're quite booked. Our only rooms left are one-bed rooms. I just assumed that wasn't a problem."

"Oh, um, we'll we co-" I stuttered; neither Dean nor I had the appropriate response for this awkward topic. Dean shrugged, "We could go to the next one. Check it out?"

"Uh, sure," I nodded.

"Oh, come on now. The closet hotel that won't cost two-hundred a night is forty miles away. I'm really sorry about the mix up but I'll give you two a discount, how's that?" an eerie silence filled the lobby. Dean and I did the awkward shift-glances until finally Dean mumbled, "Uh…do you…mind? I don't fight in my sleep." He gave a boyish grin and I couldn't help but smile back. Facing the mousy man, I nodded, "What's the total?"

He seemed pleased with himself for persuading us to stay. The desk hop gave us a twenty dollar off deal for the duration of our stay and our total came to fifty bucks a night. Dean rented our room out for three nights but told him we made need more, "We're visiting some family…my uncle. Not sure how long I can last without my cousins driving me crazy." Dean gave an honest, yet not, chuckle and handed over the credit card. The man took the card, and entered the pin slowly into the computer. He paused and grinned as the results popped up onto the screen. "Here you are, Mr. Campbell."

"Thanks," Dean took the card and we departed for the car. "Room ten-eight."

"Mr. Campbell?" I asked as we lugged our bags into the hotel room. Dean grinned proudly, dropping his bags on the right side of the bed closest to the bathroom. That left me with the left side of the bed so I placed by bags by the window and plopped down. Dean, still grinning, nodded, "Bruce Campbell. Great actor. Ever see the movie The Evil Dead?"

"Nope."

"Evil Dead II?"

"Nuh uh."

"The Army of Darkness?"

"No," I gave a laugh. "Why?"

"Bruce Campbell played Ash Williams in the Evil Dead movies and Army of Darkness TV show. He was a hunter of sorts. He only killed demons though. Still, the man was pretty bad ass."

"So all of your aliases are double-standards?"

"Of course."

Curious, I muttered, "Are any of mine?"

Dean instantly broke out in a wide smile. Nodding, he replied, "Alexis Young after Angus Young from-"

"AC/DC. Nice. I never would have made that connection."

"Well I am a man of genius," the brunette waved his arms motioning his tall physique. Snorting, I rolled my eyes, "Clearly."

Suddenly, a techno ringing sounded throughout the room. Dean retrieved his phone from his pocket. "Hello? Yeah. Yeah okay. Meet you there." He snapped the silver phone shut and jammed it back in place. Grabbing up his jacket, which I failed to notice he'd taken off, he nodded towards the door. "Come on. Dakota's at the library."

"Do you know how to get there?"

"It's a library; not gonna be that hard to find. He said it was downtown somewhere."

"Yeah, Dean, downtown Portland. Which, you know, is kinda huge."

"Shut up, Lori, and get in the car." Snorting a laugh, I raised my palm in salute, "Yes sir."

After driving all around Portland and went to two libraries, neither of which were correct, before I finally convince Dean to put his pride aside and call Dakota for directions. He refused to admit that he was lost and stuck with, 'I did it so you'd shut up.' When we got to the library, Dakota was waiting outside, leaning against his police car. Dean parked two spaces down and together, we traipsed inside. "Hello, Officer Jenkins, what can I help you with today?"

"Nothing, Shelia, thanks," he nodded his uncapped head towards the librarian carrying a heavy-looking stack of hardbacks. Dean's cop friend led us back to a mass of computers in the south east wing of the large building. He walked over to a secluded cove and dropped three thick files onto the table. It mad a loud thud as it collided with the wooden table top. "Here they are. Each victim's file, coroners reports included, and this file," Dakota picked up the manila folder on the bottom. "I had my secretary compile. It's all the news clippings from the passed two months. I doubt it will help but hey-"

"No, this is great, Dakota," Dean clamped a hand on the man's shoulder, already thumbing through one of the files. I pulled out a chair, plopped down, and took the other folder. The file belonged to Logan Greene. Or, did, should I say. A mug shot was stapled to the first page accompanying his short rap sheet; two late paid speeding tickets, one minor DUI just after his twenty-first, and a fine for failing to appear in court for the second traffic ticket. Logan Greene. Born November 3, '78. 6'2". 179 lbs. Perfectly healthy, prior to his death. Apparently he had no known living relatives and lived with his girlfriend Kai Creo. They shared an apartment on the north side of the city. My eyes scanned the following few pages, looking for anything that Dean, Sam, or Bobby would think to look into. A quiet sigh left my lips and I leaned back. I glanced to my left, Dean and Dakota were talking in hushed tones; Dean's ever suspicious eyes darting around the semi-crowded book center. Finally, he gave a curt nod. Dakota glanced my way, "Nice to meet you. I'll see you two later."

"Bye," I called at the retreating lawman. Dean let his file drop, newspaper articles and clippings cascading out the sides. "Hand me that file." Picking up the Carter Wilmot folder, I passed it to the Winchester boy. When he took the papers from my grasp, our fingers brushed, that odd sensation momentarily returning. Dean seemed to not notice and pulled out a particular page. "Alright, I'm going to go talk to Carter's wife…uh, Hillary, I think. Try and talk to his son too. I need you to stay here and run these names." He dropped a piece of scribbled on paper. "Dakota said these are all the occultists, atheists, and crazy religious people in town. Maybe one of them did it. You know, extract some kind of revenge. Could be like that one faith healer's wife who was controlling a reaper."

"When you got hurt?" I asked, the hunt sounded vaguely familiar. Dean nodded, folding the information page and stuffing it away. "Will you be okay here? You've got your phone, right?"

"Got it," I held out the small cellular. "What exactly do I look for?"

"Anything…everything," he chuckled slightly. "I'll call you in about an hour."

Two minutes later, Dean was gone and I was collecting all the stray papers. Collecting them, I stacked the folders and prayed no one asked to look at them. There is no way I would be able to think of an excuse. Reseating myself, I lifted the list of names and opened up a Google search page. "Time to get down to business. Let the mind-numbing begin."


	9. Chapter 9

**Happy Halloween!**

"That was a waste of time," Dean's voice echoed through the cell phone clutched to my ear. I rolled my index finger over the mouse, the internet page scrolling down. The photo of the angst, gothic teens glared back at me; two girls in the picture matched names on Dakota's list.

"Tell me about it. I got nothing on this list; just a bunch of pissy goth kids who think they're bad asses."

"Nothing checked out?"

"Nope."

"Same on my end. Carter played golf every Tuesday, drove a Hybrid, and had dinner with his family every single night - a regular family man. His record's spotless and according to his wife, the man had no enemies." He gave a frustrated sigh. I could practically see his passive face staring down the road as he drove. "Do you have an address for Logan?"

"Yes," I mumbled into the receiver. Reaching across the table, I snatched up the file. Flipping open the manila folder, my eyes scanned the page. "Ready?" Dean gave a quick 'yeah' and I read, "Eight-oh-six May Branch Boulevard. It's in May Park apartment complex."

"Alright. I'll be at the library in about five-"

"What?"

"I'm coming to pick you up."

"You want me to go with you?"

"Yes. This is part of the job too. You need the practice, Lori."

Hesitantly, I muttered, "But…I'm just…I don't do this kind of thing. I'll mess it up."

"No you won't. I'll be there." Though Dean's simple response was meant in context to the hunt, I found a hidden meaning. Well, not a hidden meaning really, more like a hidden truth. "I'll be there" was meant to be taken as, "I'll help you question Kai and stop you if you trip up"; I took it as, "I'll be there and we will survive this war". Though Dean didn't mean this outwardly, it was still a comforting thought.

Quietly, I nodded, though he couldn't see me. "Okay."

"Meet me outside."

I snapped shut my phone and slid it into my pocket. I exited the internet page, not before deleting browsing history, and shut it down. Gathering all the papers, folders, and such, I tucked it away in my thin jacket. Once I was sure I had everything, I embarked outside. The instant the double doors opened, the chilly Portland air smacked against me. It cooled my skin. The hairs rose slightly. I took a sharp breath. My eyes scanned the parking lot and surrounding streets. The Impala was nowhere in sight. A shaky breath left my lips, a cloud of white puff resulting. I was gradually beginning to freeze. Rocking back on my heels, I tried to mentally warm myself.

"Lost, babe?" A voice to my left startled me. A shaggy-haired man, nearly a foot taller than me, had walked over; his American Eagle sweatshirt hung loosely and I immediately grew jealous of his warmth.

"No," I replied. "I'm waiting for someone."

"Someone like a husband?" I held up my ring-less hand. "Hmm, not married. Haven't found Mr. Right, yet?"

I snorted. "Look, not to be frank, but I'd like to wait alone."

"Oh, am I not your type or something?"

"Sure, let's go with that," I mumbled, hoping he would just walk away. Sadly, he didn't.

"Don't judge a book by its cover, baby." He cocked a grin at his own cheesy library joke. _Oh yeah, great play Dr. Smooth_. "And if I may say so myself, this covers actually pretty damn nice."

"Listen. I'm freezing, tired, and just did a ton of useless research. Please just leave me alone."

"Whoa, whoa, calm down. I didn't mean any harm, just though I'd give a pretty girl like you a chance at a guy like me. But, if you want to be a bitch about it, I can go else whe-"

"Good. Go away," I snapped.

The American Eagle stranger glared now, his playful, flirty smirk gone. "What is your issue?"

As the man took a quick, angry step toward me, the most marvelous sound filled my ears: the purring engine of the Impala. Since AE boy didn't know the Impala was my ride, he continued to move forward. Dean, who had changed into his black suit and tie, pulled the black beauty to the curb beside us. Leaning over, he called out the rolled down window, "Is there a problem, Lori?"

"Dean, this is-" but the stranger instantly tensed and stepped back. I watched him glance at Dean before shaking his head.

"No. No problem." He shrunk away politely, my eyes glaring a hole into the back of his over-eager head.

I slid into the front seat next to Dean. "Perfect timing, Winchester."

"Who was that?"

"Just a bored, horny guy." Dean's smirking eyes met mine, his chuckles quietly echoing in the car. Soon the laughter blended with the backdrop of Black Sabbath playing. Dean drove us to the hotel for a quick freshening up. I changed into the nice, black skin and white blouse I'd bought. I pulled back my hair into a high bun, allowing my bangs to fall loose and framing my cheeks. Once I applied makeup and put a few pieces of jewelry on, I exited the bathroom. Walking over to my things, I snatched up the brown paper bag and withdrew a handful of IDs. "Who are we going to be?"

"Get your detective badge," Dean spoke from the kitchen where he was blessing sink water.

"Holy water?"

"Restocking the trunk. We're running low on salt too." We both went about and finished getting ready for the next several minutes. When we were both dressed, locked and loaded, the brunette man faced me. "All set?"

"Let's go." I nodded, and then halted. "Hey, uh, Dean…how do I look? It's it buyable?"

Dean shot me a grin, his bold eyes traveling the length of my body. "Very."

For the duration of the drive Dean was constantly giving me tips on our present task, coaching me through it. _'Do not, under any circumstances, mention the devas.' 'Try to be polite. Work with her. Get the information.' 'Don't forget, you aren't Lori Davis, you're Detective Eve Norman.' _By the time we got there, I felt slightly at ease. Only slightly, though. Dean turned the key, shutting of the engine, and asked, "Got your badge? Got everything you need?"

My badge, now clinging to my hip, silenced his questions. Dean sent me a reassuring smile. "Let's make this brief."

"Can I help you?" A young woman answered the door to Kai and Logan's apartment. Blonde curls framed her face; her blue eyes were hard and blurry, most likely from tears. "Well?"

"Kai Creo?" Dean asked, flashing his own badge. Taking his lead, I lifted mine. "I'm Detective Ford, this is my partner Norman."

"Not again," she snarled under her breath. "I've been through this twice, alright? I didn't kill Logan, I don't know who killed Logan, and I am about to flip out on your law enforcements asses."

"Uh…" Dean shifted uncomfortably. "Ma'am, we just need a few more minutes of your time."

"Yeah? Well, sorry, 5-0, my time isn't available."

"Ms. Creo, we're sorry for your loss and I understand this is frustrating," I began slowly. Fumbling over my thoughts, I clumsily spoke an excuse. "But, whoever did this is still out there and has killed another man already. We are trying to stop this and find who killed your boyfriend. Please, it'll just take a moment." I pleaded with my eyes. Kai appeared un-phased by my little speech. Failure consumed me. I tossed Dean a tight lipped look.

Clearing his throat, Dean put on his bitch-face and grumbled, "Or you can refuse to cooperate and we'll take you in."

Hastily, and angrily, she stepped aside and allowed us in. Once we were gathered in her living room, Dean paused by the fireplace. Nudging a photo atop the mantle, he asked, "Who is this?"

"My step-brother, Walker," Kai muttered. "Can we just get this over with?"

Dean shot me an annoyed look. "Was Mr. Greene acting differently in the days prior to the attack?"

"What?"

"Was he acting…odd? Scared maybe? Did he mention anything strange, out of the ordinary?" Dean continued. Kai peered back at him like he'd slapped her.

Sensing her pending anger, I quickly muttered, "What the detective means is the other victim thought someone was after him. We're just covering all the basis."

"No," Kai spoke, crossing her thin arms firmly across her chest. For such a tiny woman, she gave off a strong, demanding air. "Logan was fine. No one was after him."

"Did he-" but Dean couldn't finish as his phone was cutting him off. "Excuse me." He pulled out his phone and stepped into the hall.

With his lack of presence, Creo glared at me expectantly. I suddenly felt compelled to speak. Blushing, I racked my brain. I thought back on all my visions of the Winchesters interrogating witnesses. More importantly, I focused on Sam, who always had a way of making the various family members or friends or co-workers feel at ease. "Now when you found Mr. Greene was anything in the apartment misplaced or disrupted?"

"Everything was fine. He's…he was a writer. He was in his study working on his latest novel. I stepped out to get my nails done. When I got home the door was still locked and he was dead."

"I can't imagine how that must have felt," I said softly.

Momentarily, Kai relaxed, her facial expression easing. Then, abruptly, my words sunk in and she quipped, "No, you can't."

"Eve." Dean appeared in the doorway. "We have to go. Ms. Creo, thank you for your time. If we need anything else we'll drop by."

"Or you could leave me alone."

We departed for the Impala swiftly. Worried by our sudden leave, I asked, "What happened?"

Dean's expression was grim as he opened his door. "That was Dakota. They found another body." The sound of the slamming door reverberated throughout the apartment complex. Two kids playing jump rope two apartment buildings over became startled, and dropped their rope. Biting my lip, I climbed in after Dean. He was stiff and his lips slightly pouted.

"Dean…" I spoke. Silence was my only replied. "We've been in town a day. Not even, actually - half a day. There was no way you could have stopped this."

My traveling companion still didn't answer, but tightened his grip on the steering wheel instead. An uneasy feeling wormed into my stomach. He had a right to be upset, someone was dead, but it wasn't his fault. Not at all. I fiddled with my fingers nervously, unsure of what to say. Shifting in my seat, I faced Dean. "Who died?"

"William Hurts, 120 Brooke Street in Naples Trace," he read of a torn white receipt. He handed the slip to me; my eyes scanned the scribbled words. Dean's writing was messy from his quick script, I imagine. Staring at the words, I realized that this name wasn't just a name, it was a person, a man who might have been a father or a husband or a brother. He was a son and now he was dead, gone forever. There would be no angel to bring him back to life, no trickster to turn back time, and no deal made to give him more time. He was simply dead.

Pursing my lips, slightly depressed, I placed the paper on the seat between us. "I honestly don't know how you do it all the time….all the death…all the pain. I mean, I get why. Saving all the people you do, helping everyone. But, it must take a lot out of you. I can see it does at least a little. I can't imagine how much of the horror you hide."

"It's hard." Dean finally sighed after some time. He glanced at me, but his eyes remained on the road. "But, honestly…I can't see myself doing anything else. Sure, it would have been nice to have a different life - a real job, a nice house. Maybe have a family. Hell, I don't know…but I figure if it wasn't me doing this, if it hadn't been our family, it would have been somebody else. I get a little comfort knowing that by living the way I do, knowing the things I know, I'm stopping some other poor bastard from having to."

"That's a hell of a way to look at things," I spoke remorsefully.

"Yeah, I guess."

"I'm surprised at you, Dean."

The brunette shot me a raised brow expression. "Why?"

"You hate talking about your feelings with anyone, especially women and, well, Sam."

"It's not like you don't know what I'm thinking anyway." He gave a shrug, as best he could whilst driving.

A small laugh left my lips. "I'm not physic. Just a prophet."

"Same thing."

When we finally made it to 120 Brooke Street, there were two patrol cars, one SUV, and a coroner's van parked outside. Crime scene tape had already been plastered around the house and the neighbors were nosily poking their heads outside. Winchester parked the Impala in front of the neighboring house and exited the car. As I followed he whispered to me, "No offense, but try to lay low for this one, and remember, you're Eve Norman. Now, let's go have a look at your first dead body."

Paling at his words, I gulped, and followed.


	10. Chapter 10

**Credit for Rain goes to Rouge. **

Dakota Jenkins was waiting in the foyer of the Hurts home when we arrived. Dean flashed his badge at an officer patrolling the police tape. The skinny, youthful cop nodded, lifted the yellow border, and allowed us to pass.

"Detective Ford, Norman," Dakota nodded, his face solemn. Beside him a pregnant woman stood, silently weeping as she rubbed her swollen stomach. On the stairs behind her sat a tiny girl. She was numbly staring forward, her eyes red and puffy. I felt my stomach clenching as my heart bled for them.

"Detectives, this is Amanda Hurts, Billy's wife, and their daughter, Rain," Dakota motioned. "Ladies, these guys are from the FBI. They're here to find the monster that did this. Now, can you tell them what you told me."

Amanda's eyes slowly trailed up from the floor. She glanced briefly at Dean, then me, before settling her gaze on the wall. "Bill, Rain, and I were upstairs. W-we were putting the baby's crib together and Bill went downstairs t-to get a different wrench but h-he was taking too long so I…so I sent Rain to get him-oh God."

The carrying woman broke off into muffled cries, clutching her hands to her stomach. She leaned against the banister of the staircase, her daughter bolting up to stand beside her. The young girl's lips quivered, "Mom, I'm so sorry; I'm _so_ sorry."

"What do you have to be sorry for?" Dean asked. Rain looked at him with sad, wide eyes, "It's my fault."

"Care to elaborate?" I questioned. Amanda sniffled before swatting her daughter's arm, "That is enough, Rain! You didn't do-"

"You don't understand, mom! If I had just sent the email then dad would still be alive! It _is _my fault; dad is dead and it's all my fault!" Rain shrieked, tears finally spilling over in her eyes. They streaked pitifully down her face pooling on the collar of her purple shirt. With a whimper, she collapsed on the stairs, smashing her face into her knees. Her mother peered down at Rain, pain etched across her face.

Jenkins, Dean, and I shared knowing looks. Dean took a small step forward, kneeling before Rain. "Sweetheart, I'm going to need you to show me that email."

To:

From:

Cc:

Subject: Forward:to ; ; ; ; 2legit2quit!.com; animefreak2…

Text:

_Four years ago a little boy named Adam McDonald was drowned by his toy clown while his father watched. Three months later a girl got forwarded this email and thought it was just a joke, so she deleted it. That morning at three am, the toy clown appeared at the foot of her bed and cut her to bits with a rusty knife, drowning her in her own blood. If you don't want the clown to come after you, pass this on to at least ten people. But beware, if you don't forward this, expect a visit from him soon._

_To see that attachment click __here__. _

"What's the attachment?" I asked, reading the email over Dean's shoulder. He moved the mouse, then clicked. Abruptly, a picture of the clown from Stephen King's IT popped up and laughing flooded the computer's speakers. I cringed, pulled back.

Dean growled, "I'm really starting to hate clowns."

"This is ludicrous," Amanda snapped. "My husband's murder had nothing to do with an email!"

"We know, ma'am," Jenkins murmured. "We're just covering the bases. Please, why don't you go with officer Hainey and he'll take you and Rain to your sister's, alright?"

With a few choice words, Amanda snatched up her daughter and did as Dakota suggested.

Dean stared at the computer screen, his brow furrowed. He cupped his chin in his hands. Sighing, he mumbled, "You think this has anything to do with the murders?"

"I think it's worth checking out…with no leads at the library and now this, maybe we jumped to the deva conclusion a little too early," I replied. Turning from the computer desk in the Hurts' family office, I stepped into the hall and allowed my eyes to survey the seen before me. Just three feet away, in the entrance of the dining room, William Hurts was scattered across the wooden floor.

Blood pooled around the massacred body. The crimson liquid shimmered in the low lights of the kitchen and the flashes of the CSU techie's camera. My lips dipped into a frown and I felt myself pale. A familiar presence was suddenly all around me. I faced Dean. He gazed over my shoulder at the mess then met my eyes. "Don't let it get to you," was all he said before leading Dakota and I out of the house.

The snarky Winchester and I soon returned to the shady motel. We were waist deep in research when Dean scoffed, "Well I be damned."

"Been there, done that, remember?"

"Someone's a smartass," he scoffed. Dean pulled the laptop he'd borrowed from Dakota off the table and waltzed over to where I sat on the bed. "Check this out."

"Neither Logan nor Carter got the chain letter about the kid but, Logan's girlfriend did and so did Carter's nephew."

"I take it they both deleted them…?"

"Damn straight."

"So what, you get the email and if you don't forward it a family member dies? Rain's dad, Carter's uncle, Kai's fiancé?"

Dean nodded, "Looks like it, but is there any truth to it?"

"Well," I sat up, pulling open my notebook. "I had one of Dakota's men look into any child drownings in Portland going back the last ten years. There were four incidents. Three girls, one boys. Roughly a year ago a kid named Avery McIntosh drowned while his father went inside to get a drink. The report said nothing about clowns but the one-year anniversary of Avery's death corresponds with the first killing."

"Coincidence, maybe?"

"Coincidence? What's that?"

Dean gave a laugh and closed the laptop. "Yeah, you're right. Okay, I'll go check into Avery's death. See if his daddy's still kickin'. Maybe he knows something. Stay here and don't…I don't know, don't check your email."

I waited until Dean left to slip out of my jeans and into something more comfortable. For a while I paced the room, going over everything I knew about the case. Briefly, I wished I was more like Sam and could actually help Dean with the hunt. All the self-pity and worry caused me to develop a migraine. Popping some Excedrin, I snuggled down onto the bed and shut my eyes tight.

Almost instantly slumber overtook me. Visions of Sam fighting with other hunters flickered behind my shut lids. The images passed quickly and I saw Sam arguing with Jessica. Then, Jess wasn't Jessica anymore. She was some man. I strained to hear what was being said but the scene changed too soon-only this time Sammy was nowhere to be seen. Dean was milling through a cemetery, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. I watched as he searched for a grave.

Once more the dream shifted and shook. Tiny glimpses and sound bites here and there passed. Even in the dream state the vagueness of my visions irritated me. I struggled to gain control over what I was seeing. Futilely I attempted to see what I wanted-to see how this specific hunt would turn out. To my chagrin, unfortunately, I did not and I slipped into a dreamless sleep.

When Dean returned hours later I was still dozed off, my body curled around one of the smelly, old motel pillows. He gently nudged me awake, "Hey, princess, rise and shine."

I gave a disoriented groan.

"Lo_riii_, wake up. I talked to the kid's dad." The rickety bed shook as Dean kicked the mattress. Mumbling a disgruntled curse I opened my eyes only to narrow them at the dirty-blonde hunter. I grumbled to myself as I propped up on my elbow, snapping, "And?"

"And he gave me the exact same story from the report. Swimming with his son one Saturday afternoon, goes inside to get a beer, hears poor, ole Avery screaming for help, and when he comes out the kid's dead. According to his father, Avery was not cremated, he's buried…with his favorite toy."

"Let me guess," I murmured. "A clown."

"Bingo."

"Awesome. That makes me super happy. So we were wrong, it isn't a deva but a vengeful spirit."

Dean nodded. Crossing the room, he began tossing bags of salt and containers of lighter fluid into his duffle bag. A wave of déjà vu hit me. As he continued to gather things for a typical salt-and-burn Dean spoke, "I called Jenkins on the way over. Avery's buried in-"

"Park Hill Cemetery," I cut him off.

"Yeah, how'd you kn-oh, right. God, that's freaky."

"Get used to it, Winchester."

"Alright, let's go take care of Bozo the Serial Killer," Dean gave a cheeky grin. Slipping off the bed, a sleepy yawn escaped my lips. I reached for my discarded jeans. I told Dean to wait while I changed and glided into the bathroom. Just as I finished buttoning the denim pants, a harsh knock rippled on the door.

"Change of plans," Dean's deep voice radiated through the door. "Jenkins just called. His daughter-" I opened the door, startling Dean. "His daughter got the email-" I groaned, knowing full well what he was about to say. "And she deleted it."

"Shit, okay, let's go."

"Dakota!" Dean screamed as we took the front steps of the farmhouse two at a time. The eldest Winchester shouted the officer's name once more, now pounding on the door. Suddenly, the door swung open and Callisto ushered us in.

"Have you seen it yet?" Dean demanded.

"No," Callisto muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. The pissy teen jeered our way. "How in the hell was I supposed to know the chain letter was real? It's a fucking chain letter!"

"We know," I told her. Dakota appeared in the doorway and Dean gave him a once over, "You good?"

"So far," the gruffy man replied. Callisto looked at her father and a sullen expression dawned her features. Sensing her guilt, Dakota slung an arm around her shoulders and gave a loving squeeze. "Everything's gonna be alright, Callie."

"Right, we need to get you two locked up nice and tight. You got any salt?" Dean took charge then. We gathered in the living room where a giant salt-circle had been made. Dean gave Dakota and I each a shotgun loaded with salt-rounds. He paused as I lifted the weapon, examining it.

Raising a quizzical brow, he scoffed, "Please tell me you know how to shoot."

"Point and fire," I shrugged. "Yes, Dean, I know how to work a shotgun. It's just like a bee-bee gun, right?"

"Yeah, sure, you know, just deadlier."

Once the fort was secure, Dean hoisted the duffle bag off the couch and cleared his throat, "You three stay here. I'm going to go take care of the creepy little bastard. Do not, I repeat, do not step out of that circle, am I clear?"

"Yes, master," Callisto quipped sarcastically. I glanced at the teen just in time to see her eyes roll.

I gave a snort. "It'll be fine, Dean, just hurry, okay?"

He nodded and turned, heading out. Just as he reached the door, he pivoted. Concerned eyes met fearful ones. The rugged hunter squared his jaw. When he spoke, his voice was low, barely audible, "Be careful, Lori. If you get ganked, Cas'll kill me."

"Well that was sweet," Callisto sneered. "Your boyfriend's a real charmer."

"He isn't my-" I spun on my heels to snap at the youth but a sudden jingle halted my words. Like the tinkling of a tiny bell, a soft ringing rang out. A draft blew through the room and I felt the hairs on my skin stand tall. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. When my eyes reopened there was a small clown standing where Dean had been only seconds before.

The evil S.O.B stood no more than two or three feet tall. It's white face held a large red grin spanning from cheek to cheek. Its eyes were black, rimmed in a harsh brown. It wore a frayed yellow jumper with blue and white polka dots splattered on the pants legs. The clown took two steps forward. I raised the gun with a quivering grip. Another step and it disappeared.

"Where did it go?" Dakota asked.

I shook my head but didn't lower the shotgun. "I don't know. Stay sharp. Look around."

Suddenly, the clown appeared on the edge of the salt-circle, just a foot away. I gave a shrill scream and jumped back. I continued backing up and pulled the trigger. The backlash of the shot shook my arms and locked several of my muscles. I gave a foul curse as the ghost vanished once more. Either out of fear or habit I took another step back.

"Everybody okay?" I asked. Dakota confirmed and Callisto clung to her father wordlessly.

"Where is it?" the girl asked, eyes darting all around the room. All of a sudden, Callisto shrieked, "There!"

Spinning, we saw the clown standing in front of the couch. Dakota shot. It reappeared on the other side of the circle. Again, Dakota shot. It reappeared at the door. I shot. With each gunshot, the three of us backed up, retreating away from the clown until we reached the very edge of the circle.

The clown had just reappeared when Callisto tripped and fell out of the circle.

"Callie!" Dakota screamed, dropping his gun and lunging for his daughter. He shoved her back in the circle when the clown popped up to his left. Suddenly Dakota was flung across the room.

"Daddy!" the teenager yelled. Pulling a round out of my pocket I attempted to reload the shotgun but couldn't remember how. A frustrated groan sounded from my mouth. Tossing the firearm to the floor, I stepped out of the circle and shouted.

"Hey! Hey, Bozo!" My screams did nothing to distract the clown as it began to cut Dakota with its tiny, plastic hands. Callisto's shrill cries contrasted against her father's painful grunts. In panic, I began searching the room for something, anything iron. My eyes landed on the fireplace.

Dashing over, I snatched up a fire-poker. "Of course."

I ran to Dakota's side and swung like Babe Ruth. The iron rod swept through the clown's body, dissolving it with a _swoosh_. I grasped Dakota's bleeding arm and helped him climb to his feet. We ran for the circle when a painful lurch attacked my stomach. Seconds later my back made contact with the living room wall.

I fell into a painful heap on the floor, watching as Dakota was dragged back across the floor, clawing and kicking his way towards the circle.

"Callisto!" I snapped, pushing myself upright. "Get a fire-poker! Toss it to your father, hurry!"

The girl did as I instructed before scampering back to the circle. Dakota reached for the poker, which laid a mere inch or two away, but before he could grasp it, the clown gave a piercing cry and vanished in a blaze of crisp smoke and orange flame.

All was still as we shared scared glances. Then, a familiar tune hit the air. I retrieved my phone from the pocket of my jeans. "Yeah?"

"You guys kosher?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, we're super." Closing the phone, I dropped to the floor and gathered my breath, fighting back terrified tears.

**I believe this is the part where I babble on and on about how sorry I am and how ridiculously long it's been since I updated, but really, what's the point in that? Point is, I'm back in action and **Ramble On** shall henceforth kick ass once more! **

**Review or die. But not really. **


	11. Chapter 11

**Credit for Kai Creo :Renavatio. Credit for Rain: Rouge. Credit for Callisto: maron771121. **

I woke to the sound of a blaring car horn. Light was flooding into the small motel room through the cracks in the window's blinds. Particles of dust were floating in the air, illuminated brilliantly by the gentle rays of sunlight. My lips curled in a yawn. I snuggled closer to the pillow beneath my head and waited calmly for the fuzziness of sleep to wear off.

When I finally felt awake, I slowly rolled over to face Dean. The Winchester boy was sprawled across his side of the king sized mattress. A sheet covered his legs and midsection, one foot sticking out. Both arms were raised above his head. His mouth hung slightly open as he breathed deeply, in and out, in and out. He looked so much younger in his sleep, almost peaceful. Almost.

Reaching up, I rubbed my eyes and yawned once more. Propping up, I looked around Dean's comatose form and aimed my eyes at the clock. 12:47. I whistled quietly.

Towering over Dean, I couldn't help but blush. We were close, co close; and lying in a bed together. At such close proximities I couldn't help but notice the heavy splatter of freckles down his nose and over the curvy tops of his cheeks.

The corners of my lips tugged upward. Reaching down, I stroked a finger down his cheek before flattening my palm against the stubbled skin. I pulled my hand back and slapped him lightly.

"Wakey, wakey, bitch."

"Ughh," groaned Dean. Swiping a hand across his face, he groaned yet again and sputtered. "Y-you're the bitch."

Chuckling, I slid off the ratty bed and made for the shower. Before turning on the water, I stuck my head out the door only to see Dean still snoring. My eyes narrowed. "Dude, wake your ass up, I'm hungry!"

Ezell's diner sat on the lower outskirts of Portland. It was a shabby restaurant that specialized mostly in seafood. We took a seat at a table near the back and both ordered a fish and shrimp platter. As we waited on the food, I caught Dean's staring eye.

"What?" I asked, taking a sip of soda.

"Nothing," he shrugged. He shifted his gaze to the window. Absentmindedly, his calloused fingers fiddle with his place setting. "It's nothing, I'm just surprised."

"Care to share with the class?"

Dean laughed, dropping his fork. He propped his elbows on the table top. "It surprises me how easy it is hunting with someone else, someone who's not Sammy."

"I blame my charming smile and witty comebacks," I attempted to lighten the mood because I could sense Dean's longing; he missed his brother greatly. Licking my lips, I sighed, "I think it's easier because you're not constantly having to look behind you to make sure Sam isn't sneaking off with Ruby or because, while you're probably still worried sick about him, it's easier not having to always be Sam's big brother. Yes, you still have to be careful hunting with me because I'm inexperienced but you don't have to play the protective, anal, I'm-trying-to-help-you-even-though-I-know-you-don't-want-it card."

Dean's eyebrows raised and he scoffed, "Thank you, doctor Phil. Appreciate it."

I kicked his shin. "You know what I mean…Sam's good, by the way. I don't know if you want the low down but he's safe."

Dean swallowed, his jaw tensing a bit. His shoulders squared and he sighed. "Is he…I mean…do you know where?"

"Oklahoma."

Dean nodded. His fingers returned to their fiddling. He sniffed, "Okay then."

With that the conversation halted and we finished the meal before hitting the road. We were halfway across Oregon when Bobby called and mentioned a possible job in Nevada. The hunt turned out to be a bust and we moved on to a wendigo in Denver, Colorado. A few days passed and we caught wind of some omens due East in Ohio.

We'd been making our way across the United States, bickering back and forth in the strict confines of the Impala, when Dean finally decided to call it quits for the night. Weaving our way through the late night streets of Kansas City, Missouri, we finally came to a stop at the Century Motel. Dean cut the ignition and we hauled ourselves out of the car.

As we made for the door a young guy with short brown hair called out to Dean, "Excuse me friend!" He was wearing a cheap suit and one of those too happy grins. "Excuse me friend but have you taken time out to think about God's plan for you?"

He held up some white pamphlets that said "God is Love" is big blue letters across the front. I couldn't help but snicker to myself at the irony. Dean, however, didn't give the kid too much thought and simply spoke, "Too friggin' much, pal," before pushing his way passed and into the motel.

He held the door open for me and I slipped in behind him. "Gotta appreciate God's sense of humor," I mumbled as we approached the lobby desk. Our room was on the second floor and as we entered the cramped, dirty space, Dean pulled out his phone to call Castiel like he'd promised to do.

Not bothering to freshen up, I began to strip and pull on some pjs. I was vaguely aware of Dean's presence as he talked to Cas about the colt. Apparently, the angel warrior was determined to find it. With a yawn, I moved for the bag on the counter and took out an apple.

I took a seat at the plastic kitchenette table and munched away. Dean leaned against the counter, phone to his ear. The hunter chuckled. "You know it's kinda funny talking to a messenger of God on a cell phone. It's like watching a Hell's Angel ride a Moped…okay, alright, but I'm telling you, Cas, the mooks have melted down the gun by now."

Dean rolled his eyes and shot me an impatient look. I smirked and continued to devour my fruit. The tall male crossed the room in deliberate strides and sat on his bed. He met my eyes and gave a shrug. "Okay, when do we start?" he asked the phone.

"Kanas City," he spoke. Lying back, he stretched across the bed and seized the motel key. "Century Motel. Room one-thirteen."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, no, no, man. Come on, I just drove like, sixteen hours _straight_-"

"And whose fault is that? I offered to drive," I quipped, taking a final bite of my apple. Dean ignored my jab and continued to negotiate with Castiel. Standing, I threw the bare core away and flicked off the kitchen light.

I laid down on my bed, the itchy covers pooled around me. Dean set his phone on the nightstand between our beds. "Friggin' angels, I swear."

"Yeah, they're dicks, I know. Can we sleep now?" Reaching up, I began to rub my temples, fighting an oncoming headache.

"You're prophet mojo still messing up?" asked Dean as he kicked off his boots. I nodded. For the past several nights my dreams were unclear. The visions were more blurry than usual and when I wake I can't remember anything but frustration. The mental strain has been causing headaches, headaches that remind Dean of Sam-though he won't admit it.

Suddenly, something hit my hip. With a yelp of, "ow!" I looked down to see a pill bottle on my bed. I popped two Excedrin and thanked the snarky Winchester.

"Don't mention it," Dean muttered his favorite line as he flung himself on his bed. He reached over to turn off the lights, murmuring softly, "Goodnight, Lor."

"Mhmm," I yawned. "Night, Dean."

It seemed that not ten minutes after closing my eyes I was woken by the sound of a harsh buzzing. "Dean," I mumbled in my sleepy state. "Dean…_Dean!_ Wake you ass up and get your phone." Eyes still closed, I picked up my spare pillow and chucked it in his general direction.

"Damnit, Lori," he bit. I oculd hear him scrambling for his phone. "Damnit, Cas, I need to sleep…Sam?"

One word and my eyes are flying open. Dean looked at the clock, "It's a quarter past four…yeah, okay. What's up?"

Dean gave me an apologetic look before crawling out of bed and moving to the kitchen area. He was speaking in soft tones, trying to be quiet. I realized the notion was out of respect for me and smile kindly. I forced myself to sit upright and told Dean he didn't have to whisper. I began to wipe the tiny bits of sleep from my eyes when Dean choked on air, "Lucifer? You talked to Lucifer?"

A shiver ran down my spine. I cursed my inconsistent vision and attempted to think back on my dreams. Nothing like drawing blanks. Again I shivered. Pulling a flimsy sheet around my shoulders, I stood from the bed and moved to the table. I shook myself awake and watched as Dean retrieved two beers from the fridge. He slid one over to me and popped the top off of his.

Taking a swig, the husky man spoke, "So you're his vessel, huh? Lucifer's wearing you to the prom?"

I removed the top from my beer and took a small sip. Though I'd never been partial to the drink Dean had the marketing skills to rival Bill Gates. I watched him over the rim of my cold bottle.

"Just when you thought you were out they pull you back in, huh Sammy?" Dean moved to the window. He scoffed, "What're you lookin' for? Well, I guess I'm a little numb to the Earth shattering revelations at this point."

Dean dropped into the seat next to me. His looked so tired and worn. He met my sleepy gaze and shot me a tightlipped smile. His grip on the phone slackened as he sighed, "Whatta you want to do about it?...you want back in?"

Dean's eyes widened then narrowed, "Oh so we're back to revenge then, are we? Yeah, cause that worked out so well last time. So we're just going to walk back in and be the dynamic duo again?"

With a start, I realized Dean said duo, not trio. Sam wanted back in; Sammy in, means Lori out. I placed the beer bottle to my lips. I felt my stomach clench as I swallowed a mouthful of the tart beverage. Suddenly, Dean clenched the phone in a knuckle white grip. He pulled the small device away and shut his eyes. For a beat all was silent.

His ever-changing eyes slowly opened. Torment was splashed across his face. My fingers instinctively searched out his hand. I gave what I hoped to be a comforting squeeze and a small smile. Dean's lips quivered as he nodded. Lifting his head taller, he spoke to his brother, "Look, Sam, it doesn't matter. Whatever we do…I mean, it turns out that you and me we're the fire and the oil of the Armageddon. On that basis alone we should just pick a hemisphere and stay away from each other for good."

He paused while Sam spoke. "Yeah, you're right, we can. But not together. We're not stronger when we're together, Sam. I think we're weaker. Because whatever we have between us…love, family, whatever it is…they are always going to us that against us. And you know that. We're better off apart. We got a better chance of dodging Lucifer and Michael and this whole damn thing if we just go our own ways."

I felt Dean shaking beneath my hand. "Goodbye, Sam."

Dean snapped his phone shut and closed his eyes. Temporarily paralyzed. I stroked my thumb across his hand until he finally calmed. Clearing his throat, Dean opened his eyes and studied me. "Did I do the right thing?"

"I don't know, Dean…whatever was decided doesn't have to be a permanent thing. If you ever needed him, Sam would come. You know that."

"I don't know, Lori. He might not this time."

"Oh, Dean," I sighed at his broken tone. Soothingly, I coaxed Dean into bed and promised him we'd figure it all out in the morning. Settled into my own sheets, I glanced at my traveling buddy. His eyes were closed, his body relaxed, but his face was bothered. His jaw was tight and his brow furrowed with worry.

I spoke, allowing my voice to carry, "Get some rest, Dean, we'll handle it tomorrow."

I woke again three hours later with the pounding urge to piss. When I was slinking back to bed, I noticed that not just my bed was empty but Dean's was as well.

"Dean?" I called to the empty motel room. "Dean?...oh, shit."

I did a sweep of the room. Everything of Dean's was still here; cell, boots, wallet, keys… Panic began to overwhelm me. I racked my brain for what to do and suddenly darted across the room. Flipping open his phone, I ran through his contacts and hit send.

"Cas? Castiel! Dean's gone."

"I'll find him," the angel replied. The line dropped. Closing the phone I moved to the wall and slithered to the floor. I stared at the phone for nearly ten minutes before beginning to dial Bobby's number. Just as my finger hit send, a white light filled the room and I was face to face with Zachariah and Dean.

"Oh, well, if it isn't the ghost of Christmas Screw You," Dean quipped, catching my eye. I vaulted off the floor but Zachariah held out his palm. My steps froze. The bald vessel faced Dean.

"Enough," he spoke. "Enough. You saw it, right? You saw what happens. You're the only one who can prove the Devil wrong. Just say yes."

"How do I know this isn't one of your tricks, huh? Some angel hocus pocus!" Dean bit harshly.

Zachariah was oddly calm. Instead of spitefully or threateningly retorting, he merely stated, "The time for tricks is over. Give yourself to Michael. Say yes and we can strike before Lucifer gets to Sam, before billions die."

Dean pursed his lips, shaking his head. He strode forward, passed Zach and stopped in front of me. I could see the agony, the anguish in his eyes. More so, I could see the small doubt. The sliver of fear and wonder. My mouth suddenly dry, I mouthed, 'Don't'. Dean's parted lips closed. He gazed back at me gravely. Then, he winked.

The poker face slipping on, Dean smirked, "Nah."

"Nah?" echoed Zachariah. "You telling me you haven't learned your lesson?"

"Oh, I learned a lesson alright; just not the one you wanted to teach."

Zachariah's face reddened abruptly. The superior angel's lips twisted scornfully. He straightened to his full height. "Then I'll just have to teach it again," he stormed forward. "Cause I got you now boy and I'm never letting you-"

Unexpectedly the motel room was gone and we were standing on the side of a deserted road. "What the…" I mumbled, the night chill causing me to shudder. Spinning around we saw a familiar man with a familiar trench coat.

"Nice timing, Cas," Dean grinned at his friend. Castiel returned the notion, muttering, "We had an appointment."

A wistful look came about Dean's face. He placed a sturdy arm on Castiel's shoulders, and like a parent speaking to his child he sternly told Cas to never change. I cocked a brow, "What did Zach do to you?"

"More importantly how did he find you?" Castiel added.

"It's a long story. Let's just stay away from Jehovah Witnesses from now on, okay?" Dean answered as he asked for his phone, which was still clutched firmly in my grasp. We watched him dial, Castiel asking, "What are you doing?"

Pressing the device to his ear, Dean glanced at me. "Something I should've done in the first place."

When Dean got off the phone with Sam, he sighed. "Okay, I'm starving, who's up for breakfast?"

Castiel angel-plopped us down at a McDonald's one town over from Kansas City. The plan was to eat, then swing by the motel to get our stuff before meeting up with Sam, who said he could be in Kansas City by noon.

"So what exactly happened?" I asked Dean as we sat down with our biscuits and hashbrowns. Dean shrugged, "I got zapped to the future and saw how this shit-fest ends if me and Sammy stay apart."

"How bad was it?"

"Pretty fucking terrible. How'd you know I needed bailing out, anyhow, Cas?" The angel inclined his head towards me. "Lori?"

"I woke up and you weren't there. I called Cas."

"What, so sure something grabbed me? How'd you know I didn't just slip away?"

"Well for one all your shit was still there…"

Dean snorted, "True. Yeah, well, don't worry. For future references I haven't known you long enough to abandon you and not feel guilty. Yet."

We lapsed into a comfy silence while Dean and I stuffed our faces. Popping in a hashbrown, I fought back a yawn. "You know," I broke the stillness. "Since I started rolling with you two I've lost, on average, four hours of sleep a night."

"Welcome to the Apocalypse."

"Speaking of," I murmured. "Cas, how long are we supposed to keep doing this?"

"As I understand it you eat until the desire to do so goes away," said Castiel with a simple innocence. I grinned, "That's not what I meant. I mean how long is Dean supposed to play babysitter?" Glancing at Dean, I surrendered my hands. "Not that I mind or anything; hunting's been a blast and you're great but, I don't expect you to keep letting me hunt with you forever. Especially now with Sam coming back…"

Dean cut me off swiftly. "Nothing is going to change now that Sammy's hopped on the band wagon again. Sure, he might act like a jaded, jealous girlfriend for a while but that's just Sammy. Lori, I promise, it'll be fine."

"Dean, be practical, this isn't-"

"Lori," Dean snapped. Our eyes met. He steeled me with a look of fortified resolve. "You're staying, and that's final."

**This was fun to write. I hope it was also fun to read. Let's see what happens now that Sammy's back in action shall we? **

**Again, please review. Maybe if you review Eric Kripke will come back to the show. Maybe. **


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